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J.onAvn, Charles Gilpin,. 5. BisTiopsgoLU' Slreef- wr/houf,. 









THE WORKS 


OF 


ELIHU BURRITT. 

i\ 





LONDONCHARLES GILPIN, 5 , 


BISHOPSGATE WITHOUT. 





/\e« 

.B-746 






















CONTENTS. 


DoD HATH MADE OF ONE BLOOD ALL NATIONS OF MEN 

The natural bridge ; or, one niche the highest 
God’s book of remembrance .... 

The mind. 

Temperance . 

TnE emigrant’s dog. 

America. 

Give me back my husband ..... 

The neighbours . 

God is love. 

y A "war with England . 

Bury me in the garden. 

The drunkard’s wife. 

"Dismantled arsenals. 

An apprentice’s way of acquiring a library . 

A SHORT LAY SERMON FOR BOARDING-SCHOOLS 

Storming Quebec . 

Wine-drinking advocates of temperance 

An hour among the mountains .... 

The conservatism of progress .... 

The inventive genius of labour 

The last hour of the league .... 


PAGE. 

. 1 
. 4 

7 

8 

. 11 
14 
. 17 

19 

. 20 
37 
. 38 

42 
. 43 

46 
. 47 

50 
. 54 

56 
. 57 

60 
. 64 

67 








IV 


CONTENTS. 


All mortgaged . 

The branded hand . 

An hour with nature and the nailers 
Laura Bridgman and her barrel op flour 

Faith .. 

“No ONE liveth to himself” .... 

, The true American ....... 

The martyr age of the United States 

Cold-blooded homicide. 

An American slave in London .... 

An evening walk with the children . 

Woman and war. 

The Bible ; or, the guide-star of human progress 


PAGE. 

72 

76 

77 
81 
83 
86 
87 

90 

91 
95 

100 

103 

104 



PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. 


Mr. Charles Gilpin. 

My Dear Sir, — 1 am gratefully surprised to learn 
that another edition of my little work is called for so soon, 
especially at a time when the spirit and sentiments which 
pervade its pages are so strikingly in contrast with the 
genius of those efforts now being made, even by British 
statesmen, and by some portions of the public press, to 
stimulate in the mind ot the people feelings of distrust, 
jealousy, and suspicion, toward their nearest neighbours ; 
feelings which must germinate into latent hostility or open 
war. This circumstance enhances the sentiment of pleasure 
and gratitude which I feel in sending you a few additional 
pieces for the second edition of the work, which may add 
to its variety if not to its value. 

Sincerely yours, 

Elihu Burritt. 

15, New Broad Street , 

January 8th , 1848; 


This edition of “ Sparks from the Anvil ” is published 
with the sanction and approbation of the talented author, 
and it may be right to add, is the only edition from the 
sale of which he will derive any pecuniary benefit. 

Devoted with his whole heart to the promotion of the 
great principles of peace amongst the nations, and the 
feeling of Brotherhood amongst the families of the earth, 







vi publisher’s notice. 

his apostolic mission commends itself to every true Friend 
of Humanity, and we are satisfied that there are many who 
will not only bid him a hearty “ God speed,” and with 
heartfelt earnestness crave the blessing of the Prince of 
Peace on him and on his labours, but will cheerfully assist 
in such practical way as may be open to them, to aid him 
on his pathway of benevolence and humanity. 


Mr. Charles Gilpin. 

My dear Sir, 

In compliance with your request, 1 send you some 
of the earlier productions of my pen, together with a few 
of later date. Most of these essays were written during my 
hours of relaxation from arduous manual labour. As such 
you are at liberty to make whatever use of them may 
accord with your pleasure. In reference to your other 
wish, that I should furnish you with some particulars 
relating to the circumstances under which I commenced 
and prosecuted my studies, perhaps you will be satisfied 
with the copy of a letter which 1 addressed, some years 
since, to a gentleman in America, in reply to a similar 
request. 

Yours very sincerely, 

Eliiiu Burritt. 

London , July 5th, 1847. 


The following notice and extract is taken from the pages 
of the “ Southern Literary Messenger.'' for March, 1840 :—« 

THE LEARNED BLACKSMITH. 

[We invite the attention of the public to the subjoined 
communication from Dr. Nelson of this city, accompanied by 




publisher’s notice. 


• • 
Vll 

a letter to him from Mr. Burritt, already distinguished by 
Governor Everett as the learned blacksmith of Massachusetts. 
Mr. Burritt’s extraordinary acquirements, under the peculiar 
circumstances of his life, are only equalled by the modesty 
with which he shrinks from notoriety. We doubt whether 
there is a parallel instance on record of the same application 
to mental improvement, under such striking disadvantages. 
The most learned linguist now living, we believe, is Mezzo- 
fanti, the Professor of Oriental Languages at the University 
of Bologna, in Italy. He is said to speak and write fluently, 
eighteen ancient and modern languages, and twenty-two 
different dialects of Europe ; but Mezzofanti has not been 
obliged to labour one-third of his time at the anvil for 
subsistence. Lord Byron said of him “ He is a monster 
of languages—the Briareus of parts of speech—a walking 
polyglot; and more, who ought to have existed at the time 
of the tower of Babel, as universal interpreter.” What 
would Lord Byron have said of the self-taught Massachu¬ 
setts Linguist, whose wonderful acquisitions have been 
treasured up amidst toil and poverty, and in those intervals 
which are usually devoted to repose or recreation 1 If any 
of our readers should be incredulous in this matter, we need 
only refer them to the address of Governor Everett, and also 
to the personal testimony and observation of Dr. Nelson, of 
whom it may be said that no declaration of ours is neces¬ 
sary to entitle his statements to the fullest confidence 
Ed. Messenger.] 

To the Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. 

With a few friends, who have seen the following commu¬ 
nication, I entirely concur in the opinion that it ought to be 
given to the public. It is a brilliant unsurpassed example 


publisher’s notice. 


viii 

of what may be achieved by persevei mg application to study. 
To all persons, especially to the young mechanics of our 
country, it may prove a beacon of light to guide them to 
higher destinies, by a diligent improvement of their “ little 
fragments of time.” 

Of the verity of the statement made by the writer there 
cannot be a doubt. In the summer of 1838, Governor 
Everett of Massachusetts, in an address to an association of 
mechanics in Boston, took occasion to mention that a black¬ 
smith of that State had, by his unaided industry, made 
himself acquainted with fifty languages. In July of the 
following year, I was passing through "Worcester, the place 
of his present residence, and gratified my curiosity by calling 
to see him. Like any other son of'Vulcan, Mr. Burnt t was 
at his anvil. I introduced myself to him, observing that I 
had read "with great pleasure, and with unfeigned astonish¬ 
ment, an account of him by the Governor of his State, which 
had induced me to take the liberty of paying him a visit. 
He very modestly replied, that the Governor had done him 
more than justice. It was true, he said, that he could read 
about fifty languages, but he had not studied them all 
critically. Yankee curiosity had induced him to look at 
the Latin Grammar; he became interested in it, persevered, 
and finally acquired a thorough knowledge of that lan¬ 
guage. He then studied the Greek with equal care. An 
acquaintance with these languages had enabled him to read 
with facility the Italian, the French, the Spanish, and 
Portuguese. The Bussian, to which he v r as then devoting 
his “ odd moments,” he said was the most difficult of any 
he had undertaken. 

I expressed my surprise at his youthful appearance. He 
informed me he was but twenty-seven years of age (to which 


publisher's notice. 


IX 


statement I gave ready credence); that he had been con¬ 
stantly engaged at his trade from boyhood to that hour, and 
that his education, previous to his apprenticeship, had been 
very slender. 

Mr. Burritt removed from a village near Hartford, in 
Connecticut, where he was born, and where he learned his 
trade, to Worcester, to enjoy the benefit of an antiquarian 
library, stored with rare books, to which the trustees gave 
him daily access. “ Yes, sir,” said he, “ I now have the 
key to that library (showing it as if it were the most pre¬ 
cious jewel, the real key to knowledge), and there I go 
every day and study eight hours. I work eight hours, 
and the other eig;ht I am obliged to devote to animal 
comforts and repose.” 

The stage drove up and I most reluctantly left him ? 
exacting however a promise that he would write me some 
account of himself—of his past and present studies. 

The following is the first, but not the only letter which 
he has done me the favour to write. I have assurance that 
Mr. Burritt would not be so false to his professions as to 
object to its publicity. But I am equally well assured that 
it will give him more pain than pleasure. 

Th. Nelson. 

j Richmond, February ith , 1840. 


Worcester , December 1 6th, 1839. 

Dear Sir,—I sat down to write to you under a lively 
apprehension that you will accept of no apology that I can 
make for my long silence. But before you impute to me 
indifference or neglect, I beg you, my dear sir, to consider 
the peculiar nature of my occupations,—to reflect that my 



X 


PUBLISHERS NOTICE. 


time is not at my disposal, and that my leisure moments 
are such as I can steal away from the hours which my 
arduous manual labours would incline me to allow to 
repose. 

I deferred writing some time, thinking to address you 
a letter on your return from the springs; but the nature 
of my business became such in the fall, that I was com¬ 
pelled to labour both night and day up to the present time, 
which is the first leisure hour that I have had for several 
months. 

I cannot but be gratefully affected by the benevolent 
interest which you manifested in my pursuits, both in our 
interview in Worcester, and in the letter for which I am 
indebted to your courtesy and kind consideration. I thank 
you most cordially for those expressions of good will. They 
are peculiarly gratifying, coming as they do from one whose 
personal acquaintance I have not long had the means and 
pleasure of enjoying; a fact which proves, I fear, that I 
have been thrust before the world very immaturely. An 
accidental allusion to my history and pursuits, which I 
made unthinkingly in a letter to a friend, was to my 
unspeakable surprise, brought before the public as a rather 
ostentatious debut, on my part, to the world : and I find 
myself involved in a species of notoriety not at all in 
consonance with my feelings. Those who have been ac¬ 
quainted with my character from my youth up, will give 
me credit for sincerity, when I say, that it never entered 
my heart to blazon forth any acquisition of my own. I 
had, until the unfortunate denouement which I have men¬ 
tioned, pursued the even tenor of my way unnoticed, even 
among my brethren and kindred. None of them ever 
thought that I had any particular genius, as it is called; 



PUBLISHERS NOTICE. 


T never thought so myself. All that I have accomplished, 
or expect, or hope to accomplish, has been and will be by 
that plodding, patient, persevering process of accretion 
which builds the ant-heap,—particle by particle, thought 
by thought, fact by fact. And if ever I was actuated by 
ambition, its highest and warmest aspiration reached no 
farther than the hope to set before the young men of my 
country an example in employing those invaluable frag¬ 
ments of time called “ odd moments.” And, sir, I should 
esteem it an honour of costlier water than the tiara 
encircling a monarch’s brow, if my future activity and 
attainments should encourage American working men to 
be proud and jealous of the credentials which God has 
given them to every eminence and immunity in the empire 
of mind. These are the views and sentiments with which 
I have sat down, night by night for years, with blistered 
hands and brightening hope, to studies which I hoped 
might be serviceable to that class of community to which 
I am proud to belong. This is my ambition. This is 
the goal of my aspirations. But not only the prize, but 
the whole course lies before me, perhaps beyond my reach. 
“1 count myself not yet to have attained” to any thing 
worthy of public notice or private mention \ what I may 
do is for Providence to determine. 

As you expressed a desire in your letter for some account 
of my past and present pursuits, I shall hope to gratify 
you on this point, and also rectify a misapprehension which 
you with many others may have entertained of my acquire¬ 
ments. With regard to my attention to the languages, 
(the study of which I am not so fond as of mathematics,) 
I have tried, by a kind of practical and philosophical pro¬ 
cess, to contract such a familiar acquaintance with the head 


publisher’s notice. 


• • 

Xll 

of a family of languages, as to introduce me to the other 
members of the same family. Thus, studying the Hebrew 
very critically, I became readily acquainted with its cognate 
languages, among the principal of which are the Syriac, 
Ohaldaic, Arabic, Samaritan, Ethiopic, &c. The languages 
of Europe occupied my attention immediately after I had 
finished my classics; and I studied French, Spanish, Italian, 
and German, under native teachers. Afterwards I pursued 
the Portuguese, Flemish, Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, 
Icelandic, Welsh, Gaelic, Celtic. I then ventured on 
further east, into the Russian empire ; and the Sclavonic 
opened to me about a dozen of the languages spoken in 
that vast domain, between which the affinity is as marked 
as that between the Spanish and Portuguese. Besides 
these, I have attended to many different European dialects 
still in vogue. I am now trying to push on eastward as 
fast as my means will permit, hoping to discover still 
farther analogies among the oriental languages which will 
assist my progress. I must now close this hasty, though 
long letter, with the assurances of my most sincere respect 
and esteem. 

Elihu Btjrritt. 

To Th. Nelson, m.d. 


SPARKS FROM THE ANVIL. 


“ GOD HATH MADE OF ONE BLOOD ALL NATIONS 

OF MEN. ” 

The Providence and Gospel of God have conspired to 
make the present moment one of thrilling interest to the 
philanthropist, the patriot, and Christian. The light of 
divine truth, which, ages ago, was cast like a solitary torch 
into the Egyptian night that brooded over the world, has 
shone on brighter and brighter unto an almost perfect day. 
The clouds and chaos of tempestuous confusion have slowly 
rolled away, and disclosed this great truth, spanning, like 
a rainbow, the whole new heavens of humanity: “ God 
HATH MADE OP ONE BLOOD ALL NATIONS OF MEN !” Strange, 
startling, obnoxious truth ! which Mercy lit at the Eternal 
Throne, and cast all burning with the oil of heaven into 
the midst of the warring world. The principalities and 
powers of darkness have leagued with men from age to age 
to put out that light , which the tyrant could not bear. Put 
out that light ! has been the watchword of war; and, like the 
apocalyptical dragon which John saw, it has deluged the 
earth with blood to quench that heaven-lit censer. The 
freeman put on his mail, and the slave made a shield of his 
manacles, and ran with the master and the monarch into 
the deadly rifts of battle ; and when he mingled his blood 
in the same pool with theirs, the sorrowing angels saw,— 
men mutilated and with glazed eyes saw, vultures and 
wolves, and ravenous dogs saw, that it was as pure as ever 
throbbed in royal veins. The earth has been one vast 
battle-field, where the nations have waged war with Michael 
and his angels, with God and his Gospel, to prove there 
was no identity in the origin and destiny of tho human 
race. Religion, mistaken, earth-wedded religion, with her 
eyes glaring with a fire that never burned in heaven, has 
rushed like a fury into the combat. With her angel robe 
all draggled in human blood, she has stood upon the high 

B 




2 


GOB HATH MADE OF ONE BLOOD 


places of the earth, and brandishing the Bible in one hand, 
as if it were the aegis of Jupiter, and in the other the 
deadly weapon of carnal warfare, she hissed for the nations 
to join her sanguinary banner. And they came : the chief¬ 
tain that furbished his armour by the light of burning 
Hecla came. The Scandinavian champions of the North 
led on their trained clansmen from the sunless shores of the 
Arctic sea ; the tartaned Scot that fought at Bannockburn, 
marched shoulder to shoulder with the mailed southron, 
and both forgot they ever “ met in angry parlance” there, 
while the clarion of a holy war resounded from glen to glen, 
and from mountain to the sea. All deadly feuds and 
private griefs, and clannish animosities, were merged into 
one intense, ferocious frenzy, which Religion baptized into 
a Christian zeal, to do God service with the sword. Seizing 
the standard of the cross, she led the bannered hosts of 
Europe to the plains of Palestine, and left them bleaching 
there before the walls of Gaza, Acre and Jerusalem, to show 
the uncircumcised infidels of the East, that they had no part 
nor lot in Calvary, nor in the common blood of man. 

From Peter the Hermit’s time to Bonaparte’s, and from 
his to the earliest despot after the flood, the human race, 
in concert with every fiendish spirit that hated God and 
man, have waged a perpetual crusade against that great 
truth which Paul uttered on Mar’s-liill. But did they 
succeed? Did the dark passions of their alienated hearts, or 
all their crimson issues, put out that light 1 Nations fell in 
the struggle ; crowns fell like stars in the apocalypse ; but 
did the angel flying through the midst of heaven with the 
everlasting gospel, did he suspend his flight and rest upon 
his folded wings ? No !• had we but ears to hear anything 
but the din of this noisy world, we might even now catch 
the sound of his trumpet,.proclaiming as he flies, “God 

HATH MADE OF ONE BLOOD ALL NATIONS OF MEN!” 

Christians, hear it ! hear it in the. harmonies of the 
universe and the voices of visionless things, that commune 
like whispering angels with the human soul. Hear it in 
the music of the birds, that never lose a note to settle any 
disputed territory in mid air. Hear it ! the night winds 
sigh, that have fainted beneath the burdens they have borne 
from the battlefields and scenes of human butchery. Hear 
it! whisper the summer breezes, that go out by moonlight 
a wooing the blushing flowers of every zone, and sing the 


ALL NATIONS OF MEN. 3 

same song of love over boundaries that alone make ene¬ 
mies of nations. Bend your ear to the lily and the rose, 
and hear it there; for the gentle spirit of the summer 
flowers is the breath of angels, and it comes up from every 
daisy that lifts its yellow petals to the stars, and pleads the 
divinity of this lesson. Bead it! for it is the autograph of 
every sunbeam, written at dawn and dewy eve on every inch 
of the firmament above. Every rain-drop distilled from the 
ocean, that patters against your window or glitters on the 
rose beneath, is sent to you with this special message of 
love. And then there are other voices, that come up in 
whispered wailings, as from a world of moaning spirits, 
sighing, Hear it! Every foot of ground in Europe is 
blushing with the blood of some murdered Abel, which 
“ smells rank to heaven ,” and cries to God against the Cain- 
like profanity of the man that slays his brother. The 
bones of fathers, sons, and brothers, that were gathered up 
from the field of Waterloo, and burned and ground to lime, 
and sold to the farmer by the cask to manure his fields— 
these have voices, that “ cry like angels trumpet-tongued, 
against the deep damnation of their taking off.” Mountains 
interposed made them enemies ; and they rushed into the 
deadly combat, and plucked out each other’s hearts to gain 
the immortality of human glory, which was promised them 
for aping fiends. “ Like kindred drops they had mingled 
into one,” had it not been for this bloody phantom that 
summoned them to the field. But they mingled at last; 
the Briton, the Gaul, and the Austrian, mingled their 
blood in one huge draught for the thirsty earth, which 
blushed as she drank it in, because she knew it was human. 
The ponderous millstones mingled their bones in one com¬ 
mon dust, and the farmer merged their obstinate nationali¬ 
ties at every handful of the pulverised humanity which he 
scattered upon his field. Costly dust ! God’s images ground 
to powder! lie peaceful by the tender blade of growing 
corn ! for ye have half attained the honour of resurrection, 
to be raised from the battle-field even to this base use. Lie 
still, and let the dews of heaven weep sweetly over you ; 
and the evening zephyrs whisper as they pass by, that God, 
angels, and men, had rather ye should bear spears of grass 
and blades of corn, than murderous spears of steel and 
blades and bayonets to butcher men. Sleep on! let no 
malignant spirit breathe on you; but let the archangel 


4 


THE NATURAL BRIDGE J 


whose it shall be to wake you to another life and form, let 
him keep watch over your desecrated dust, and point man¬ 
kind to your lowly bed, and then to that eternal truth, 
written in characters of living light across the heavens— 
11 God hath made of one blood all nations of men !” Chris¬ 
tians, look upward ! Do you not see that handwriting upon 
the wall of heaven ? Can ye not read it ? is it not fairly 
writ ? Come, all ye Belshazzars of the earth—come, look 
there ! for ye can read it without a Daniel : the Ever¬ 
lasting Son of God himself has translated it into the lan¬ 
guage of the human heart, and everything that can sing of 
love, or love to sing, has set that truth to the soul-melodies 
of its existence. Aye, read and tremble ; for it is the Mene, 
Tekel, Upiiarsen, of your wanton empire over the destinies 
<of man. Has it made you tremble on your thrones to re¬ 
cognise the political existence of one small nation; what 
will ye do when all the nations of men shall rise up, in the 
majesty of their divine adoption, and summon you to recog¬ 
nise their lofty lineage! 


THE NATURAL BRIDGE; 

DR, ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST. 

The scene opens with a view of the great Natural Bridge 
in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the 
channel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of 
unhewn rocks, which the Almighty bridged over those 
everlasting hutments “ when the morning stars sang to¬ 
gether.” The little piece of sky spanning those measureless 
piers, is full of stars, although it is mid-day. It is almost 
five hundred feet from where they stand, up those perpen¬ 
dicular bulwarks of limestone, to the key rock of that vast 
arch, which appears to them only of the size of a man’s 
hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive 
fey the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the 
channel.—The sun is darkened, and the boys have uncon¬ 
sciously uncovered their heads, as if standing in the pre¬ 
sence chamber of the Majesty of the whole earth. At last, 
this feeling begins to wear away; they begin to look around 
them; they find that others have been there before them» 



OR, ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST. 


5 


They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone hut¬ 
ments. A new feeling comes over their young hearts,'and 
their knives are in their hands in an instant.—“ What 
man lias done, man can do,” is their watchword, while they 
draw themselves up and carve their names a foot above 
those of a hundred full-grown men who have been there 
before them. 

They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, 
except one, whose example illustrates perfectly the for¬ 
gotten truth, that there is no royal road to intellectual emi¬ 
nence. This ambitious youth sees a name just above his 
reach, a name that will be green in the memory of the 
world, when those of Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte, 
shall rot in oblivion. It was the name of Washington. 
Before he marched with Braddock to that fatal field, he 
had been there, and left his name a foot above all his pre¬ 
decessors. It was a glorious thought of the boy, to write 
his name side by side with that of the great father of his 
country. He grasps his knife with a firmer hand ; and, 
clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts a gain into the 
limestone, about a foot above where he stands ; he then 
reaches up, and cuts another for his hands. ’Tis a dan¬ 
gerous adventure ; but as he puts his feet and hands into 
those gains, and draws himself up carefully to his full 
length, he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled 
in that mighty wall. While his companions are regarding 
him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name in 
rude capitals, large and deep, into that flinty album. His 
knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a 
new created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another 
niche, and again he carves his name in larger capitals. 
This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his com¬ 
panions, he cuts and climbs again. The graduations of his 
ascending scale grow wider apart. He measures his length 
at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax 
weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his 
ear. He now for the first time casts a look beneath him. Had 
that glance lasted a moment, that moment would have been 
his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little 
niche in the rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost cer¬ 
tain fall.—He is faint with severe exertion, and trembling 
from the sudden view of the dreadful destruction to which 
he is exposed. His knife is worn hall-way to the haft. He 


6 


THE NATURAL BRIDGE j 


can hear the voices, but not the words, of his terror-stricken 
companions below. What a moment ! What a meagre 
chance to escape destruction ! There is no retracing his 
steps. It is impossible to put his hands into the same 
niche with his feet, and retain his slender hold a moment. 
His companions instantly perceive this new and fearful 
dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that “ freeze their 
young blood.” He is too high, too faint, to ask for his 
father and mother, his brothers and sisters, to come and 
witness or avert his destruction. But one of his compa¬ 
nions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he bounds 
down the channel, and the situation of the fated boy is told 
upon his father’s hearth-stone. 

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there are 
hundreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds on 
the bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the 
fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new 
and numerous voices both above and below. He can just 
distinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all 
the energy of despair, “ William ! William ! Don't look 
down ! Your mother , and Henry , and Harriet , are all here , 
praying for you ! Don't look down ! Keep your eye towards 
the top ! The boy didn’t look down. His eye is fixed like 
a flint towards Heaven, and his young heart on Him who 
reigns there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another 
niche, and another foot is added to the hundreds that re¬ 
move him from the reach of human help from below.—How 
carefully he uses his wasting blade ! How anxiously he 
selects the softest places in that vast pier ! How he avoids 
every flinty grain ! How he economises his physical powers ! 
resting a moment at each gain he cuts. How every motion 
is watched from below ! There stand his father, mother, 
brother, and sister, on the very spot where, if he falls, he 
will not fall alone. 

The sun is now half-way down the west.—The lad has 
made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now 
finds himself directly under the middle of that vast arch of 
rocks, earth, and trees. He must cut his way in a new 
direction, to get from under this overhanging mountain. 
The inspiration of hope is dying in his bosom; its vital 
heat is fed by the increasing shouts of hundreds perched 
upon cliffs and trees, and others who stand with ropes in 
their hands on the bridge above, or with ladders below. 


OR, ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST. 


7 

Fifty gains more must be cut before the longest rope can 
reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the lime¬ 
stone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from 
under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands 
of those who are leaning over the outer edge of the bridge. 
Two minutes more, and all will be over. That blade is 
worn to the last half inch. The boy’s head reels ; his eyes 
are starting from their sockets. His last hope is dying in 
his heart; his life must hang upon the next gain he cuts. 
That niche is his last.—At the last faint gash he makes, his 
knife—his faithful knife—falls from his little nerveless 
hand, and, ringing along the precipice, falls at his mother’s 
feet. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a death- 
knell through the channel below, and all is still as the 
grave. At the height of nearly three hundred feet, the 
devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to 
commend his soul to God. ’Tis but a moment—there !— 
one foot swings off!—he is reeling—trembling—toppling 
over into eternity ! Hark !—a shout falls on his ears from 
above ! The man who is lying with half his length over the 
bridge, has caught a glimpse of the boy’s head and shoul¬ 
ders. Quick as thought, the noosed rope is within reach 
of the sinking youth. No one breathes. With a faint, 
convulsive effort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the 
noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words, 
God ! and Mother ! whispered on his lips just loud enough 
to be heard in heaven—the tightening rope lifts him out of 
his last shallow niche. Not a lip moves while he is dang¬ 
ling over that fearful abyss ; but when a sturdy Virginian 
reaches down and draws up the lad, and holds him up in 
his arms before the tearful, breathless multitude, such 
shouting—such leaping and weeping for joy—never greeted 
the ear of a human being so recovered from the yawning 
gulf of eternity. 


GOD’S BOOK OF REMEMBRANCE. 

Among the books that will be opened when God shall 
reckon with the universe, one will be produced filled with 
costlier records than the common transactions of time. In 
that precious volume—that “ book of remembrance written 



8 


THE MIND. 


before him for those that feared the Lord, and thought upon 
his name”—how many little acts of the humblest saint, 
which the world never knew or noticed, will appear in 
golden capitals ! How many forgotten words and looks of 
kindness, which dropped a healing anodyne into some 
broken heart, will there be shown the child of God, who fain 
will ask, When did I this 2 How brightly in those leaves 
of pearl will glow that pellucid jewel which fell from the eye 
of him who gave all he had to give—a tear for another’s 
woe ! And the poor widow’s mite—what a bright record 
shall be made of that, and of the midnight prayer she made 
for those pinched with sterner wants than hers? What a 
page in that heavenly Album will be given to him who gave 
a cup of cold water to a disciple of the Lamb, with a heart 
big enough to have given the world ! There will be shown 
the tableaux vivants of prison scenes, and sick and dying 
bed scenes, where eyes with a heaven full of love in them, 
and hearts big with the immortal sympathy of God, minis¬ 
tered to the sick stranger and him that was ready to perish. 
In that Souvenir of Eternity, will be preserved charities of 
celestial water that never found a record or remembrance 
on earth. 


THE MIND. 

There is nothing in the might and matter exhibited in 
the material universe; there is nothing in the magnitude 
and mysteries of creation ; there is nothing in the distance 
and dimensions—in the amplitude and infinity of Jehovah’s 
works, so worthy of study and admiration as the intellec¬ 
tual soid. This, among and above all the traces of Omni¬ 
potence, is the most legible foot-print of the God-head. 
The reasoning, immortal mind, whether, in the incipient 
stages of its existence, it be confined within these perishable 
tenements of flesh and blood, or whether, exalted to the most 
intimate proximity to its great, incomprehensible Source, 
it be the all-acting principle in the very next being less 
than Infinite Perfection; whether it shine in sun-like 
lustre hard by the throne of the Eternal, or be appointed 
to scintillate in solitude far out upon the extremest promon¬ 
tory of his universe ; yet, wherever and with whatever it 



TIIE MIND. 


9 

may be found, it is the living evidence of Omniscience, the 
crowning characteristic of Divinity. 

Our earth might have been filled to overflowing with all 
the other monuments of Omnipotence; it might have been 
furnished with all those scenes in nature which are fair 
and fascinating to the eye ; every field and forest, every 
mountain and valley, every hill and dale might have 
gushed forth with the sweetest sounds that ever fell upon 
mortal ears; every hill might have been clad with ever¬ 
lasting verdure, and worn the diadem of an enduring rain¬ 
bow ; every tree, even those that now bear sparsely among 
their blunted boughs the bitter acorn, might have been 
overhung with flowers more lovely than the blooming rose, 
and have bent beneath a load of more enticing fruit than 
ever grew in Eden ; every rivulet and river might have 
gushed forth from living fountains of ambrosial nectar; 
the heavens above us might have been inconceivably more 
glorious than those which we now behold and admire ; our 
skies, like those of that far, belted planet, might have been 
girdled with golden, translucent zones, which for ever roll¬ 
ing between us and “ the burning eye of day,” should 
intercept his fiery rays, and transmit them to our eyes, 
tinted with every rainbow hue ; that distant planet might 
have lent us the peerless beauty, the simultaneous splendour 
of all her waning and crescent moons—might have put 
around this earth, her little twin-born sister, both her 
encircling zones of mellowed light:—every realm and 
region of the universe might have been laid under contri¬ 
bution to have fitted up our heavens with a panorama of 
such magnificence and glory, as would captivate an angel’s 
eye ;—all these things might have been on and above the 
earth, and others more numerous than man could desire or 
describe ; and myriads of beings, too, might have tenanted 
this terrestrial elysium—beings susceptible of all the varied 
pleasures of sense ; yet, had the reasoning, rational, re¬ 
flecting mind been left out of the list, the most sapient of 
these created things could not have looked upon the scene, 
and felt, seen, and known that a God had been there. 

The mind , among all the works of creative power and 
wisdom, is the only one that bears the private mark of 
the invisible God. It is the clief d’oeuvre of Omniscience, 
whose heaven-piercing frontlet bears the “ image and super¬ 
scription” of the Almighty, written in the monoglot of the 


10 


TIIE MIND. 


universe, and legible to every being intervening between 
Infinite, Underived Wisdom, and the incipient limit of the 
brute creation. It may out-reach the capacities of the 
eldest primeval seraph beside the Eternal’s throne, to get 
hold of a perception of the elements of the material uni¬ 
verse ; even Gabriel, with all his experience in the great 
cycles of eternity, may not be able, without a special reve¬ 
lation from higher wisdom, to tell some young inquiring 
cherubim, what things are heights and depths —what dis¬ 
tance and dimensions —what are mountains and valleys — 
what rocks and rivers , sands and seas —what are any of the 
properties and peculiarities of matter ;—what is meant by 
things adjacent or remote —by things past, present, or to 
come: —all these circumstances of a corporeal existence—all 
these things, or ideas of things, which exist in, or are 
derived exclusively from the operation of our senses, may 
never enter the conceptions of those purely spiritual beings, 
whose means of intelligence are not limited to the action or 
influence of such frail and fallible agents of perception, as 
the physical organs and faculties of the human race. But 
however obtuse or imperceptible these objects of sense may 
be to those incorporeal beings, still, they cannot but recog¬ 
nise, in the simplest operation of the weakest human mind, 
that spiritual essence, that one lineament of divinity, which 
likens the lowliest being between the angel and the brute 
to a common Creator. Yes; it is the choicest prerogative 
of this state of existence, that we have something within 
us—and may feel it too—which may entitle us to the com¬ 
munion of our God, in the very presence-chamber of his 
glory. 0, it is enough to redeem all “ the ills that flesh is 
heir to,” that we have that within us, which may not shame 
the angels to take us to their fellowship; that, with the 
rational soul, we have received from the Creator those cre¬ 
dentials to immortality, which neither height nor depth, 
nor principalities or powers, nor things present or to come, 
can rob us of. 

Why then should man, “ who may look erect on heaven,” 
and read his pedigree in the skies, and feel a principle of 
divinity stirring within him—why should he so overlook 
the dignity of his being—why come so immeasurably short 
of the goal of his destiny, as to sit idling in the dust, 
and famish upon the husks of time and sense ! 0, what an 

emotive to action, to great desire, and grand emprise, is the 


TEMPERANCE. 


. 11 

consciousness which we may all enjoy, that we have an 
active principle within us, that shall winter the torpedo 
chill of death, which soon shall freeze up the fountains of 
our blood ! It is enough to take away the calamity of 
mortal dissolution, that all that part of our being which 
distinguishes us from the brutes that go down beneath the 
reach of resurrection, will never be lost or merged in the 
listless inactivity of non-existence ! No, let the grave yawn 
upon us as it may; let the palsying rattle of the valley- 
clods startle our poor weak natures as it may—still, we 
may rest assured, that all that we may be proud of in our 
being, will never lose the sentiment of its existence; and, 
if we act well our parts in our present capacities and 
circumstances, we shall be transferred, not to a state of 
long, unconscious lethargy—of vague, indefinite suspense 
with respect to our future awards and occupations in 
eternity—but to an immediate and active participation in 
all the exalted and endless employments of which intellec¬ 
tual beings are susceptible. No, I cannot think so meanly 
of the future attainments of the human mind, as to suppose 
that, at some period in eternity, not far removed from the 
time of its dissolution from the terraneous composition of 
flesh and blood—it may not be elected by its Author to 
some office in the universe, now occupied by some one of 
the minor angels ; and thence reaching higher and higher 
in its upward and endless gradations, at last put the diadem 
of Gabriel on its brow, and wear his insignia before the 
eternal Throne. 


TEMPERANCE. 

TOUCH NOT ! 

TASTE NOT! 

HANDLE NOT! 

SMELL NOT! 

ANY THING THAT CAN INTOXICATE. 

Among the thousands who have, during the last year, 
arisen from the slough of despond and shaken off the ser¬ 
pent spells of the sorcerer, many a brilliant intellect re¬ 
gained its original lustre and rank among the stars which 
shine in our moral and intellectual firmament. We had 



12 


TEMFERANOE. 


one peculiar star in tlie Old Bay State, which fell like “the 
sun of the morning” from the heaven of temperance, and, I 
may add, drew down with it a third part of the constellation 
to which it belonged. Massachusetts felt his fall to her 
heart; for he was one of her untitled nobility. He bore a 
name prouder and dearer to New England, than any one 
which any king on earth could make or give. That name 
was identified with the history of her religion, learning, and 
patriotism; and Massachusetts delighted him to honour, 
and he honoured her in the halls of our national legislation. 

He was a shining mark, but he fell: for such men fall, 
do they not 1 Like every other being this side of heaven, 
he was within arrow-shot of the tempter; whose indiscri¬ 
minate shafts carry no unpoisoned or barbless point into 
the palace or into the cabin. He fell deep ; for he fell from 
a great height. A starless night set in over the abyss in 
which he was engulfed ; and the leaden slumbers of hope¬ 
less oblivion rested heavily on his name. His native state 
went into mourning and was in bitterness for him ; for, 
like Rachel, she had been bereaved of more of her children 
by this insidious foe, than ever fell under her banner on 
the battle-fields of her country. 

Years rolled on, and a gleam of light shot through the 
blackness of his darkness. He heard a still small voice 
which whispered to him in his grave, Arise ! come forth! 
He arose; he shook off the pestiferous, hampering cere¬ 
ments which had so long bound him hand and foot. He 
found many a Martha and Mary waiting at the brink of the 
pit, to welcome him back to life and love. He returned to 
his home, and his home returned to him. The fatted calf was 
killed ; and there were many that could say, with tears of 
grateful exultation : This our son and brother who was lost 
is found. And he wa3 found, with all the resuscitated 
vigour of his talents, exhuming, as it were, his fellow-beings, 
who, like him, had been buried before they were dead. 

Massachusetts welcomed him back to her embrace with 
emotions of maternal joy, and invited the returning Pleiad 
to resume his rank among the stars of her crown. The 
doors of her halls and churches were thrown open to the 
newly-returned prodigal, and many were touched to life 
and salvation at the burning eloquence which fell from his 
lips. Sister States heard of this new Luther in temperance, 
and he obeyed their call. He stood up in their cities, like 


TEMPERANCE. 


13 


Paul in the midst of Mar’s Hill, and, with an eloquence 
approaching inspiration, set forth the strange doctrine of 
total abstinence. Cities contended, with spirited emu¬ 
lation, who should be the first to listen to his admonitions. 
The largest halls were crowded, long before his arrival, with 
all classes of the community. The drawing-room, and 
every temple of refinement and beauty, was emptied, and 
those who could scarcely touch the ground for delicateness 
almost contended for uncushioned seats and rough board 
benches, to hear this converted Saul argue on temperance. 

Such an assembly was recently crowded into a spacious 
hall in one of our large cities, on one of these occasions. 
They were waiting with breathless expectation for the 
appearance of the speaker; but he came not, and every 
countenance bore testimony of concern and disappointment. 
Why came he not ? the evening before, he was within an 
hour’s ride of the city. What had befallen him ? It is a 
short story, and it has been told daily in the experience of 
thousands. You have all heard, probably, from the lips of 
the reformed inebriate, the little expedients which he had 
to adopt to dissipate the iron force of habit. One of these 
expedients was to put something bitter into his mouth, as 
camomile flowers, wormwood, or rhubarb root, which served 
to divert the periodical attacks of his old unconquered 
appetite. The individual to whom I am referring, resorted 
to this mode of relief. At the suggestion, probably, of 
some moderate-drinking friend, who was afraid that he 
would go too fast and too far, he had recourse, at first, to 
opium . This substitute for intoxicating drinks he soon 
found, to his cost, was insidiously tampering with his un¬ 
subdued appetite, and again bringing him under its cruel 
dominion. He thereupon cast away the pernicious drug, 
and adopted a more harmless substitute. He carried in his 
vest-pocket a piece of rhubarb root; and he would eat a 
piece of this when he began to feel that aching void which 
none but a reforming inebriate can describe. On the oc¬ 
casion to which 1 have referred, just before he set out to 
fulfil his engagement, some malicious auxiliary of Satan 
had taken the piece of rhubarb from his pocket and soaked 
it in rum. While on the way to the place of his desti¬ 
nation, he took out the saturated root, and before it had 
reached his mouth, the very smell of it, as he says, set all 
the courses of his nature on fire, and burnt him with a 


14 the emigrant’s dog. 

thirst which all the waters of the earth and all its rolling 
floods could neither quench nor drown. The enemy had 
seized upon a new and unguarded avenue to the brain, and 
proved that still another of the senses must he fortified 
against his wily attacks. 

That night a band of faithful Washingtonians watched 
over a raving drunken man. They stood by with tearful 
eyes and heavy hearts while the black spirits were at him, 
and while he was wrestling like a shorn Samson with the 
spectral Philistines that were tormenting him. And when 
he slowly awoke from that dreamy delirium, they were at 
his side to stay up his tottering feet, and so to rivet his 
armour anew as not to leave his heel again exposed, like that 
of Achilles, to the armour of a skulking foe. That man is 
again a giant; and he is abroad : look out for him ! like 
Samson, he is feeling for the pillars of the temple of Bac¬ 
chus, and he will ere long revenge the loss of his locks by a 
mighty overthrow of that doomed edifice. 


THE EMIGRANT’S BOG. 

It was a very sultry day, and I turned my horse a little out 
Of he road, to rest him a few minutes under the shade of a 
targe elm. A waggon was standing a little on before me, 
loac'ed with all the heterogeneous inventory of a Yankee 
fa. er’s kitchen, parlour, pantry, cellar, and garret. There 
w the old bureau, with its carved lion-feet carefully wrapt 
around with blankets, and occupying, par excellence, the 
chiefest and safest place in the cart. Then there were those 
venerable high-backed chairs that reflect so much credit on 
the taste and skill of the seventeenth century : all occupying 
such places as would seem to intimate a covert and respect¬ 
ful reference to the eye of the spectator. Sundry barrels 
filled with minor matters of importance, made up the foun¬ 
dation of such a superstructure of beds, bedsteads, bedding, 
bags, brooms, boxes, benches, bowls, bread, and bacon, as 
might have puzzled the patriarch to have adjusted properly 
within the ark. The whole was surmounted by an ancient 
and ample cradle, which seemed to have done some service 
to several antecedent generations, and which was as cum¬ 
bersome and capacious as a common-sized canoe. At the 



THE EMIGRANTS DOG. 


15 

end of the cart was suspended the large brass kettle, which 
had assumed the capacity of a kind of sub-treasury, in 
which the proprietors deposited weekly their six days’ stock 
of provisions. 

At another time and place, I should not have noticed 
particularly this familiar cortege of an emigrant; but just 
at that moment I had nothing else to do but look right at 
it; besides, what most attracted my attention, it was in the 
middle of the state of New York, and the waggon was 
headed eastward, a direction in which I had never before 
met a turn-out, as Willis would say, of this description. I 
could not conceive how any true-spirited Yankee, for I 
knew that one of them was the proprietor of “ the plunder,” 
—should, in direct opposition to common sense, I mean the 
common sense of his countrymen, have so far mistaken the 
cry of westward ho ! as to have actually and obstinately 
turned away from the golden visions of the western world, 
to pine away upon the sterile hills of New England. A 
slight curiosity on this point, occasioned in my mind a few 
conjectures upon the possible causes or circumstances which 
had induced Jonathan to such an unpopular and retrogade 
step. Had he not realized all those golden dreams of the 
new country which had enchanted him beneath his father’s 
roof on the banks of the Connecticut % Had he become 
discontented with the poetry of a log cabin ? Had the 
wife of his youth, who had followed him thither with un¬ 
spoken regrets concealed in the depths of her sorrowing 
heart, had she pined for her childhood’s home, in the inte¬ 
resting solitude of some vast prairie of the West? Had the 
little ones which he bore thither like transplanted flowers, 
withered before the miasma of an uncultivated wilderness ? 
Had the music of a church-going bell, and all the hallowed 
associations of love and friendship connected with his na¬ 
tive village, been dallying with his heart both night and 
day in that new country, until he had finally listened to 
the speechless entreaties of her eye, whose tongue never 
asked for her home ? Had his young, sickly, sallow-faced 
children climbed upon his knee, as he returned at evening 
to his smoky cabin, and plead with him to take them back 
to grandpa’s fire-side 1 

I was interrupted in the midst of these ruminations, by 
a low murmuring of voices, which seemed to come from a 
neighbouring field partly concealed from the road by a 


16 


THE EMIGRANT’S DOG. 


thick growth of saplings. I rose up in my saddle, and 
obtained a sudden coup-d’oeil of a little scene which was of 
no slight interest to my mind, especially as it seemed to 
throw some light upon the subject I had been contem¬ 
plating. The first glance of my eye fell upon a group of 
four or five persons, beneath the shade of a large maple, 
whither they seemed to have resorted to partake of a slight 
repast out of the Mat of the sun. But an affecting incident 
had interrupted their peaceful entertainment, and filled 
them all, from father to child, with emotions which, even 
at a considerable distance, I could plainly perceive on their 
faces. A man, apparently thirty-five, was standing a few 
yards from the rest, exerting himself at the top of his 
ingenuity, to coax an old emaciated dog to follow him. 
The poor dumb creature was lying motionless at the foot 
of the tree, with his head reposing in the lap of a young 
girl of fifteen, who, with tears on her cheeks, was lavishing 
upon the poor brute all the caresses of that affection that 
was swelling up in her young heart. “ Tyg !” said the 
father, stepping up and patting him gently on the head, 
“ Here he is, Tyg, hereaway 1” when he would run back a 
few rods, as if in actual pursuit of some wild animal. The 
girl, at the same time, would lift up the creature’s head, 
and trying to open his eyes with her fingers, would point 
to some pretended game at a little distance, beseeching him 
half crying with, “ Do look, Tyg ! see, see yonder, see the 
rabbit, Tyg!” Again the father would return, and taking 
out his handkerchief, constructed out of it something else, 
a rude representation of a small animal; this he would 
make to rustle along by the dying dog, while he tried to 
imitate the cry of some wild quadruped. 

But it was in vain. The old creature opened his eyes 
once, just as I came up ; he looked up wistfully into the 
girl’s face, whose tears were raining down upon his shaggy 
brow ; his eyes were glassy, but there was an expression of 
grateful recognition in them, as they rested a moment upon 
each member of the afflicted group. “ Mother !” exclaimed 
the girl to a woman with a child in her arms, who was 
looking on in pensive silence, “ mother, he’s growing stiff, 
I can’t open his eyes.” The father, putting up his hand¬ 
kerchief, and bending over the dead brute, sighed in the 
tenderest accents of sorrow ; “ Poor Tyg ! poor old faithful 
creature ! how can I leave you here behind !” The child, 


AMERICA, 


17 


that could hardly speak plain, crept along up to the old 
dog, and putting its little bare arm under his neck, put a 
piece of hard gingerbread to his mouth, sobbing, “ Do eat 
that, old Ti!” 

There is nothing like an expression of real s}unpathy to 
shorten the period of making an acquaintance with our 
fellow-beings. I felt that this truth was worthy of becoming 
an axiom in social life, from the cordiality and almost 
gratitude with which that home-bound family testified to 
me as I accompanied them to their waggon. And when I 
told them that I was a Connecticut man, and that my 
home Avas not far from their native town, they invited me 
urgently to pay them a visit on my return to that State, 
which I promised and afterwards fulfilled. You remember, 

Lizzy, my ride over to the village of B-, the second 

day after my return from the West; the object of that 
visit was to see those emigrants at their first and last home. 
Although a year and more had elapsed since the incident 
which resulted in our partial acquaintance, yet they recog¬ 
nised me as soon as I crossed their threshold, and gave me 
a most cordial welcome to their fire-side. They told me 
the story of their sojourn in the western world ; what 
privations, hardships, sickness and death had visited them ; 
how two of their little ones had fallen victims to the 
diseases of the country ; how they had wasted away under 
the ague, and how they had buried them in one grave in 
the midst of the prairies. They told me of all the incidents 
of their homeward journey ; and when they came to the 
one I have just described, Julia pointed me to the stuffed 
skin of old Tyg, that had died in her arms under the tree 
where I had first met them. 


AMERICA. 

TIIE LAND OF ME BRAVE AND HOME OF THE FREE. 

The bruised and burdened of every clime have heard of 
America as the land of the Free. The wan and wretched 
victim of capricious tyranny, ironed to the floor of Eastern 
dungeons, has heard of America, and lifted his shackled 
hands to God in prayer for one draught of that country’s 
air, which whoever breathes, is free. The greyheaded exile, 




18 


AMERICA. 


banished from his native land, his Polish home, to the far, 
frozen solitudes of Siberian wastes, has heard of America, 
and while, by the sickly light of the pale moon, he waded 
back to his dreary shelter beneath the shapeless drifts—he 
has sighed for the pinions of the swift-winged dove to bear 
him to our shore, beyond the reach of the tyrant’s arm. 
The oppressed of every name and nation have heard of 
America, as a kind of heaven, lying beyond the jurisdiction 
of despotism, where the wicked cease from troubling, where 
every yoke is broken and the captive is free. 

But these have only heard the melody of its jubilees. 
They never listened to the half-smothered wailings of 
despair, which God hears both night and day ascending to 
his throne from human beings, bought, beat, and bound, in 
the very capitol of this boasting nation. They never saw the 
shambles under the shade of our great Temple of Liberty, 
where human souls and immortal destinies are bartered 
for the meanest merchandise of the earth. They never 
heard the suppressed moaning of the little child, bought in 
its mother’s arms, and torn for ever from her embrace. 
They never witnessed the father’s agony, as he held out his 
manacled hands to say a broken farewell to his children, as 
they were led away to some distant, unknown scene of 
bondage. They never fathomed the despair of the mother’s 
heart, when her late-weaned infant was knocked off by the 
sheriff’s hammer to some stranger, who tore it from her 
arms. They never witnessed the unavailing anguish of that 
moment, when the strong ties interwoven with the fibres 
of every human heart, were torn asunder by the sons of 
those who fought and fell for freedom. They never saw 
how human nature, like a defenceless, unmurmuring lamb, 
bled on the very steps of the capitol, while the appointed 
champions of liberty were speaking long and loud within, 
of the sacredness of human rights. They never witnessed 
the unavailing night-scenes of this modern Aceldama, where, 
for years of disgraceful history, Man , blood-redeemed man, 
has been nailed to the accursed tree of slavery under the 
very droppings of our great sanctuary of liberty; under 
the statue of that goddess, which, like a shameless harlot 
disguised in the immaculate vestments of virtue, dares 
stand upon the pinnacle of that Temple which our fathers 
built, and lift her brazen, unblushing face to heaven, and 
say to men and gods, All men are born free and equal ! 


GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND. 


19 


GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND. 

Not many years since, a young married couple from the 
far, “ fast-anchored isle,” sought our shores with the most 
sanguine anticipations of prosperity and happiness. They 
had begun to realize more than they had seen in the visions 
ol hope, when, in an evil hour, the husband was tempted 
“ to look upon the wine when it was red,” and to taste of 
it “ when it gives its colour in the cup.” The charmer 
fastened around his victim all the serpent spells of its 
sorcery, and he fell, and, at every step of his rapid degra¬ 
dation from the man to the brute, and downward, a heart¬ 
string broke in the bosom of his companion. 

Einally, with the last spark of hope flickering on the 
altar of her heart, she threaded her way into one of those 
shambles where man is made such a thing as the beasts of 
the field would bellow at. She pressed her way through 
the Bacchanalian crowd who were revelling there in their 
own ruin. With her bosom full of “ that perilous stuff 
that preys upon the heart,” she stood before the plunderer 
of her husband’s destiny, and exclaimed in tones of start¬ 
ling anguish, “ Qive me bach my husband /” 

“ There’s your husband,” said the man, as he pointed 
towards the prostrate wretch. “ That my husband ! What 
have you done to him? That my husbandl What have 
you done to that noble form that once, like a giant oak, 
held its protecting shade over the fragile vine that clung 
to it for support and shelter ? That my husband ! With 
what torpedo chill have you touched the sinews of that 
manly arm ? That my husband! What have you done to 
that once noble brow, which he wore high among his fel¬ 
lows, as if it bore the superscription of the Godhead ? That 
my husband ! What have you done to that eye, with which 
he was wont to ‘ look erect on heaven,’ and see in his mirror 
the image of his God ? What Egyptian drug have you 
poured into his veins, and turned the ambling fountains of 
the heart into black and burning pitch ? Give me back 
my husband ! Undo your basilisk spells, and give me back 
the man that stood with me by the altar !” 

The ears of the rum-seller, ever since the first demijohn 
of that burning liquid was opened upon our shores, have 
been saluted, at every stage of the traffic, with just such 


20 


TIIE NEIGHBOURS. 


appeals as this. Such wives, such widows and mothers, 
such fatherless children, as never mourned in Israel at the 
massacre of Bethlehem, or at the burning of the Temple, 
have cried in his ears, morning, night, and evening, “ Give 
me back my husband ! Give me back my boy ! Give me back 
my brother /” 

But has the rum-seller been confounded or speechless at 
these appeals 1 No! not he. He could show his creden¬ 
tials at a moment’s notice, with proud defiance. He always 
carried in his pocket a written absolution for all he had 
done, and could do, in his work of destruction. lie had 
bought a letter of indulgence. I mean a license ! a precious 
instrument, signed and sealed by an authority stronger and 
more respectable than the Pope’s. He confounded ! Why, 
the whole artillery of civil power was ready to open in his 
defence and support. Thus shielded by the iEgis of the 
law, he had nothing to fear from the enemies of his traffic. 
He had the image and superscription of Ceesar on his cre¬ 
dentials, and unto Caesar he appealed, and unto Cmsar, 
too, his victims appealed, and appealed in vain. 


THE NEIGHBOURS; 

OB, 

A SHORT LAY SERMON TO PEOPLE ABOUT HOME. 

Luke x. 20. 

And u'ho is my neighbour ? This question was one of 
intense importance to the lawyer ; for our Saviour had 
accepted the conditions which he conceived would entitle 
him to eternal life. “ This do, and thou shalt live,” was the 
brief response to his recapitulation of the requirements of 
the law. “ But he, willing to justify himself” —justify himself! 
for what h who had accused him ?—His conscience, pro¬ 
bably. Notwithstanding his evident insincerity, his first 
question, “ What shall I do to inherit eternal life ?” indicated 
that, in his own eyes, what he had done had not secured 
him a title to the desired inheritance. What shall I do ? 
then, was the question. 

With regard to loving God with all his heart, soul, and 
strength—that was a part of the condition which apparently 
gave him but little concern. Pie probably took the same 



TIIE NEIGHBOURS. 


21 


view of this requirement as Paul did, before his conversion ; 
believing it to consist essentially in the minute and punc¬ 
tilious discharge of all the ordinances and traditionary 
ceremonies of the Jewish church. “ But willing to justify 
himself ' 1 —that is, to inherit eternal life by doing just what 
he had done—he seemed half disconcerted at such an inti¬ 
mate association of the love of God with the love of his 
neighbour. This latter requisition was an entirely different 
matter. Tything mint or cummin, or any thing in that 
line, would not do here ; nor could it be done periodically 
or by proxy. He had a disagreeable presentiment that it 
might be an every-day business ; involving the performance 
of a long series of difficult, unpleasant, and onerous duties. 
It might bring him into a disreputable intimacy with a 
low sort of folk, for ought he knew ; and admit within his 
neighbourhood some dozen or more of destitute families, 
with lean, hungry groups of orphan children, and men and 
women who could not trace back their genealogy beyond 
years of bitter, houseless poverty. Let us understand the 
difficulties in the case, as they were understood by both 
parties in this serious colloquy. 

In the first place, Jerusalem, at that time—like all other 
cities within the jurisdiction of the Roman empire—was 
distinguished for a very heterogeneous population. Its 
streets were filled daily with people from all quarters of the 
globe. The confused din of all languages and dialects, 
from the Bay of Biscay to “ the extremest Inde,” mingled 
with the noise of the multitude. The armed bands of Rome 
trod heavily over the pavements; and the haughty Par¬ 
thian, the voluptuous Egyptian, Medes, Cretes, Arabians, 
and Lybians, displayed their national costume in every 
thoroughfare of the city. What wonder, then, being a Jew of 
the straitest sect,—that he was anxious to know who was his 
neighbour , whom he was to love as himself! Surely, these 
uncircumcised infidels could not be his neighbours ; bar¬ 
barians, whose presence would have defiled the temple; 
aliens from God, and the commonwealth of Israel. 

But there was another class of men, more intolerable still, 
whom he regarded with an aversion strengthened by every 
element of hatred. These were the Samaritans, who were an 
abomination to the Jews. All the prejudice that ever grew 
out of caste, colour, name, or nation, combined into one 
intense sentiment of repugnance, were nothing to the in- 


22 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


herent, irreconcilable hatred which the Jews entertained 
towards this unfortunate people. For it was a hatred set 
on fire by religious zeal and Jewish intolerance, pursuing 
the poor Samaritan with a curse that burned down into his 
grave. His presence was pollution : no religious Jew 
would enter his habitation, or drink from his well, or eat 
from his table, or touch anything that belonged to him. 
lie would exchange with him no salutation or expression 
of civility. Every avenue of reconciliation was closed ; the 
privilege of repentance was denied him ; the hope of pardon 
was cut off ; for he was the only being on earth who could 
not attain to the communion of the Jews by a conversion 
to their faith. These bigots could not stop here; they 
would fain consign his soul to annihilation, and sink his 
grave beneath the hearing of the archangel’s voice. Pre¬ 
sumptuous profanity ! they launched an anathema against 
his sleeping dust, and excommunicated his body from the 
resurrection of the dead ! 

What wonder, then, that the Pharisaical lawyer was 
anxious to know who was his neighbour , whom he was 
to love as himself, as an evidence, or rather consequence, 
of his loving God with all his heart, soul, and strength ? 
It was an important question ; the very one that would be 
proposed in every future age and generation of men. Every 
human being who was to become a worshipper of the only 
true God, would have a vital interest in that question. 
And our Saviour, knowing what was in man, and what 
would be in him until the expiration of humanity, an¬ 
swered the question definitively, not only for that lawyer, 
but all lawyers, and all the living and to live, and for all 
conditions of men. ’With a pencil that no man or angel 
could bring to the canvass, he drew a group of remarkable 
characters, and holding up the picture before the lawyer’s 
eyes, he left it to his own conscience to decide which of the 
'pictured personae was the neighbour. It required no con¬ 
noisseur in painting to recognise, at the first glance, that 
prominent character in the group ; for his individuality 
was as distinctive as that of the Apollo Belviderc among 
dwarfish statues of clay. Let us contemplate this picture 
a moment. Let us take in, at a glance, the whole scope of 
the foreground and background; inspect every stroke of 
the pencil; estimate the design and effect of every incident 
and image delineated on the canvass. 


TIIE NEIGHBOURS. 


9 *? 

jjO 

“ A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho *'— 
bear in mind the term, a certain man ; for it designates a 
peculiar individuality. He was, undoubtedly, a Jew, other¬ 
wise our Saviour would not have introduced a Samaritan. 
And a Jew—a religious Jew, especially—was a very 
certain character. He was known, the world over, by 
certain proverbial characteristics, which betrayed him 
wherever he went. Clinging with desperate adhesion to all 
the physical forms of the Jewish religion, he was painfully 
pious and religiously exclusive in every thing but those 
inconvenient and weightier matters of the law—a kindly 
charity to his neighbours, common honesty in his every¬ 
day business, and other duties of the same nature. 

“ lie went down from Jerusalem to Jericho —Let us go 
down, too, by a shorter road, and intercept him, in our 
imagination, somewhere between those celebrated places. 
Perhaps we may overtake him in the dark, dangerous pass 
through yonder deep ravine. Tread softly, now.—Hark ! 
was that a footfall 1 no ; ’twas a groan. Carefully ! there’s 
some foul play here. Stay a moment—there ! another 
groan !—Methought it came from yonder clump of cedars. 
Turn we this angle now, and get behind this shelving crag ; 
for, depend upon it, there are murderous bandits close at 
hand. Hist! friends—see ! there he is ? 0 murder most 

foul ! his mangled limbs are writhing in the dust, while 
from his gashed temples the blood is oozing in clotted 
streams, which he tries in vain to staunch with handfuls 
of hot sand. The burning sun is broiling the gore over 
his glazed eyes, and setting the marrow of his broken bones 
on fire. He has groaned out unheard his dying strength, 
and his swollen tongue has choked up the gateway of his 
voice. See ! he moves—the pattering of water-drops, drip¬ 
ping from distant rocks, falls on his ear like the whisper of 
far-off angels ; and the thirst that’s burning him to agony, 
is wringing his frame with one more effort. He strikes out 
his nerveless hand, and clutching the shallow-rooted grass, 
he draws his bloody length along toward the imagined 
blissful fountain of healing waters. Once more—once more 
he strikes his fingers into the ground : his whole body 
quivers with the effort; but, alas ! his broken limbs are as 
heavy as rocks of iron—the deceitful grass gives way, and 
with it clutched despairingly in his hand, he rolls over his 
bloody trail. Every ray of hope forsakes his broken heart, 


TIIE NEIGHBOURS. 


24 

while he breathes out the burden of his despair in the half- 
articulated exclamation, “ Where, who is my neighbour ? ’ 

Courage, poor man !—keep up a moment longer. I guess 
he is coming; I hear a step beyond the bushes yonder. 
Yes ; here he comes ! Heaven bless him ! and you, too. It 
is not only your old neighbour , but your old minister, who 
lives up in Jerusalem ; and who, for these twenty^ years, 
has been your spiritual pastor and teacher, and day’s-man 
between you and God ; presenting your meat-offerings for 
a commission sufficient to supply his table, and clothe him¬ 
self with that fine linen robe in which he approaches like 
a walking statue of Grecian marble. 

Look closely, brethren; it will be a luxury to see this 
white-fingered priest bend over his fallen parishioner, and 
slake his parched lips, and wash the crusted gore from his 
face, and bind up his broken bones with strips of linen torn 
in magnanimous haste from his flowing robe. There ! he 
is close at hand. He carries his head high, to be sure, but 
he cannot but see the poor bruised creature ; for he is lying 
with half his length in the cart-path. He must see him— 
he does see him—he starts aside as if he had come upon a 
snake, or a dead beast.—What! he is not going to jmss by 
on the other side , is he ? Reverend sir, stop ! for the sake of 
sweet mercy, stop ! That’s not a beast—’tis a man ; one of 
your old neighbours. Look at him ! why, don’t you re¬ 
member ! it’s that man who brought to the temple yester¬ 
day his offering of two young pigeons ; ’twas all he had, 
and you had one of them for breakfast this very morning.— 
Nay, now ; don’t curl up your lip so at him ; don’t draw 
your white robe around you to step unsoiled over the 
purple pool of his blood. Minister of a merciful God ! 
leave him not to die in the sand there, lie has a poor 
old mother that waits his return in one of the back 
streets of Jerusalem ; and he is her only son. And his 
wife, poor soul ! would weep to hear of such a mishap to 
any body’s husband : and he has two bright-eyed boys 
playing at his cabin door, that are asking their mother, 
When father will come back ? —0 stay! remember those two 
boys; it was but the other day you laid your priestly 
hands upon them, and consecrated them to the God of 
Israel. Come back ! 0, come back ! dear sir : he is a poor 
man, indeed ; but God, who made him in his image, sets 
more value to that running blood, than all the blood of 
bulls and goats shed on your altars since Moses’ day. 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


25 

Alas! he is gone;—gone clear out of sight! Who 
would have thought it! But do not judge him harshly. 
Perhaps he is going on a sort of missionary tour; or has 
an appointment down in Jericho, which waits him there. 
His mission demands haste : for the assembled people are 
expecting an exposition of the law from his learned lips. 
And, besides, mark the whiteness of that robe : would it 
befit the purity of his priestly office to soil it in the blood 
of that obscure vagabond; and then stand up before the 
great congregation with his ministerial habiliments blotched 
and stiffened with human gore ? Be charitable, friends : 
remember the delicacy of his position, both by profession 
and custom, which no man may laugh at. Ah, I have 
it! perhaps he knew there was some one on the road 
just behind him, who could and would attend to this 
small matter of mercy more conveniently : or, rather, more 
professionally. 

Mark you ! I am right—another footstep ! Poor man, 
don’t give up !—here is another neighbour just at hand. 
Softly now—ah ! it’s the Deacon himself—the Levite set 
apart to wait on the congregation at the temple door, and 
help them through the preliminaries of their worship. Yes, 
here he comes—a saintly-looking man, indeed. Good sir! 
—what! he is not going to miss the prostrate man, is he 1 
Good sir ! take down your eyes from the clouds, and, for 
heaven’s charity, look at your feet! Hold, hold, sir!— 
the hasty priest has left you to do something for this 
mangled human being. Alack ! he too crosses over to the 
other side. Good sir! 0 please your saintly reverence, 

one moment,—one look of pity—one drop of water to 
quench the fever of those pallid lips. See ! your footstep 
has shaken the leaden lethargy from his heart-strings. He 
feels the breath of a fellow-being on the air. 0, pass him 
not by, and quench the hope his blood-congealed lips 
cannot utter. Stay, good Deacon! but one moment now. 
See! he is trying to beckon you to him with his stiffened 
fingers. Good Jew ! nay now, don’t go ! remember Moses, 
and Abraham, and David, and step back again and say 
but one kind word to him, and Heaven will bless you.. Do 
but raise his head from the clotted dust, and make a pillow 
for it with a handful of moss; shade it with a palm or 
plantain, to keep away the burning sun from the raw 
gashes in his flesh : do any tiling, the smallest act of mercy 



2(3 TIIE NEIGHBOURS. 

to him, and you shall ho called David’s son, and child of 
God. 0, can you stand that wordless, entreating groan. 
Come hack, dear sir : fear not your temple liveiy 3 tis not 
a Samaritan—it is a Jew—Ahraham s son, who has kept 
the law of Moses from his youth up. He is your neigh- 
hour 3 and his little cahin is within stones thiow of the 
temple. 0 think of it! what will you say to his weeping 
wife and children, when they shall ask you next sabbath 
in the temple gate : <( Where is my husband ? Please you 1 
reverence , did you see our father on the road to Jericho the 
other day ? He has been long from home, and mother grows 
pale with midnight watching for his return . Good sii , you 
Jcnow our father ; did no one on your journey say when he 
would come home again ? The long silent nights are gloomy, 
and sad are we all when evening brings not back his voice 
and blessing .” 

He's gone! Let him go—the voice of Him who made 
inquisition for Abel’s blood, will reach his conscience one 
of these nights, and stir it up to mutiny with his hard 
heart. Neighbours , indeed! Heaven pity the man that 
leans upon the like of them for any kindly sympathy. 
Saintly-looking men, have Mercy and soft-eyed Compassion 
no business within the jurisdiction of your ministry, that 
you refuse to stoop to deeds of vulgar pity ? Teachers of 
the people, expounders of the just and good command¬ 
ments, are all the mercy-drops distilled upon the bleeding 
heart exhaled out of earth or heaven 1 Is the upper atmo¬ 
sphere you breathe devoid of such impure humidity, or 
does gravitation press it down to the surface of the ground, 
to feed the breath of the common herd ? 

Go your ways, reverend gentlemen, go your ways 
when I am well, I will send for such physicians as you to 
cure me. Ye both were neighbours to this poor man ; 
near neighbours. Ye were teachers and spiritual guides : 
ye circumcised his boys, and offered his sacrifices and obla¬ 
tions. And when he put them into your hands, his own 
trembled at the idea of your sanctity. And he feigned ye 
were somewhat identified with God, and had daily access 
to the Holy of Holies, where his blessed and merciful spirit 
overshadowed you. And those white robes ye gathered 
around you, as ye passed him by, he fancied the angels had 
clad you with, on some hallowed morning as ye waited by 
the altar. And now ye have gone and left him bleeding 


TIIE NEIGHBOURS. 


27 

in the sand, without dropping him a single word or look 
of pity ! Had he been a wounded, dying beast, his fellow 
brute would have stopped and moaned over him, and licked 
his gaping wounds ; and, with the eloquent murmuriugs of 
instinctive sympathy, assuaged the pangs that wring him. 
But ye, wearing the livery of Heaven, teaching mercy by 
profession, have gone and left him; left the bruised, broken 
image of God reeking and writhing in the dust. 

Quicken your pace, good Deacon : the priest is already 
in Jericho, and he cannot commence his ministration 
without your service. Hasten, good Levite; heed not 
these unpleasant objects of vulgar pity by the way : attend 
strictly to the order of your course. The minister has 
already selected a text from the book of Job :—hasten, or 
you will lose a rich sermon from these gracious words: 
“ I delivered the poor that cried , and the fatherless , and him, 
that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was 
ready to perish came upon me : and I caused the widow's 
heart to sing for joy Go ! I will stay and watch the fate 
of your gasping neighbour here. Perhaps some truant 
dog, that has never been ordained to any particular order 
of mercy, may come along, and do to him what his com¬ 
peers did to the blotched Lazarus. Or some leisurely 
journeying wolf, that has found a hearty dinner elsewhere, 
may happen this way, and, in a capricious mood of charity, 
lick off from his temples the black and crusted gore. 

But hark again ! there is a rustling behind that thicket. 
Listen ! it approaches. Heaven grant it may not be 
another neighbour from Jerusalem ! See ! a burly form 
emerges in the glade. Here he comes, whistling to his 
mule, that keeps time with her flapping ears. Methinks I 
see the sunlight of good humoured philanthropy playing 
on his bronzed countenance, as he jogs along with his 
ample pouch slung loosely at his side. He is a Samaritan; 

I know him by his dress, and dialect, and whistle ; for a 
Jew never whistles. But the Jews have no dealings with 
the Samaritans ? Never mind : see if this broad-faced 
Samaritan does not have some dealing with that half-mur¬ 
dered Jew. One step more, and he will see him. There 
now ! he leaps from the snorting mule. Hear his first 
exclamation : “ Great father Joseph ! what’s this! who’s 
here ? why here’s a murdered man ! Heaven’s peace be on 
thee !—ah! he still breathes. Look up, neighbour !— 

o 2 


28 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


softly, now—there, lean thy head against my bosom, till I 
make thee a pillow of my turban. Courage ! brother,—• 
keep up thy heart. There, let me prop up this broken 
limb with this soft moss; and then I will bring some water 
from yonder spring to wet thy lips, and wash the clotted 
blood from thy gashed temples. Peace be with thee till 
I return. 

“ There,—easy, friend ; try not to speak till I have 
moistened thy parched and swollen lips; for I can read 
the language in thy tearful eyes better than thy verbal 
speech, for I am a Samaritan. But heed it not; thy priest 
and Levite, who taught thee to hate me, and turn me from 
thy door, need never know that a vile Samaritan succoured 
thee by the way. Or if they do, they will wink at it, and 
give thee absolution. Gently now ! I see thy tears have 
mingled with the blood upon thy cheek, and commixing 
there with the hot dust, have formed upon thy face a briny 
crust, which is burning into thy flesh. Perhaps I have 
something in my pouch here that will take it off. Yes ; 
here’s a cruet of gentle olive : my wife—peace be with 
her !—put it up with my luncheon this very morning. 
There, softly now ; ’twill make thy face shine, and thou 
shalt smile again—nay, shake not thy head ! thou shalt 
smile again, depend upon it; and the ones thou lovest at 
home shall smile on thee too. This question of lineage, 
brother, is a small matter after all—ah ! never fear ; I’ll 
make a bandage of my tunic’s sleeve for that broken limb. 
Gently, now : a little on this side. Good Jew, thou hast 
children in thy native city, hast thou not ? and perhaps an 
aged mother there ? What would’st thou whisper in my 
ear? 1 Leave thee I' leave thee! never, never! Here, let 
me moisten these swathing bands with a little more of this 
olive. Leave thee ! no, no ! Come, I will bolster thee up 
against this cedar, while I make my good mule kneel and 
give thee a seat upon his back. Pear not; I can stay thee 
up with some old garments in my panniers here. Now 
rest thy hand steadily on my shoulder. Softly! good 
Athon — there, now—step gently ; ~ gently, my beast! 
Slowly, now ; the inn is near. 

“ I was saying, brother, that this question of lineage 
from Judah or Joseph is a small matter to make such 
enemies of us. For surely we have one great Father in 
Heaven, who has no grand-children in his family. Let us 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


20 


leave to him this question of genealogy ; for Abraham was 
his son, and Israel, and Judah, and Joseph, and David, 
And I have thought that all men, even these thick-lipped 
Ethiopians that come this way to trade, were his children. 
And thou art his son, my brother ; and I too, pardon me, 
good Jew,—though a Samaritan heretic,—I too, call him 
Father. And when I do it, whether by the road-side or in 
the field, or on Mount Gerizim, a gentle spirit comes steal¬ 
ing into my heart, and whispers there ‘ What wilt thou , my 
son V I ween he does not always live in your great Temple, 
or tarry day and night on your Mount Zion. Nor do I 
believe, as many of my people do, that his home is on 
Mount Gerizim ; for I have been on Mount Ebal, the 
Mount of Cursing, when the wild night-clouds hung their 
sullen drapery on the jagged rocks, and the winds were 
wailing in the cedar-tops, and thunders dropped their 
forked javelins adown the pendant crags, and huge shadows, 
crested with the glistening lightning, stalked across my 
path like armed giants, and shook their long red swords at 
me;—even then I whispered, 1 Abba, Fother !’ and found 
him as near me as on the other mount, where our House of 
Prayer was built. 

“ And, too, this very morning, I feigned his communing 
spirit was hovering around me, though five hundred fur¬ 
longs from home. I had made the topmost height of 
Gibeah, and paused to let old Athon breathe, when strange 
inusings came over me. Methought I stood upon one of 
God’s great altars, and the stars that glowed in the blue 
heavens were censers lit in the hands of angels, that were 
burning the incense of morning in the concave sea of crystal 
which God had made them to worship in. And while I 
gazed and mused, my heart listened for music, though 
much was my mind in doubt if human ear could read the 
notes that angels sing. But, as I stood listening, and 
gazing in pensive wonder at the long pavilion of purpled 
light expanding, like a mountain of molten sapphire, over 
the whole length of Jordan, lo ! the sun arose from out that 
ancient river, and lifting the veil he had put on in reverence 
of the starry worshippers, he stood forth, Nature’s great 
minister, in the porch of that vast temple. Familiar as it 
was, his countenance awed me; for I fancied I was standing 
on holy ground. At that moment, the mellow-throated 
chorister of the morning gave out the matin tune from a 



30 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


tall sycamore, and all the birds of Palestine joined in the 
concert; and such an anthem, I trow, was never heard by 
man. There were singers every where; in every cedar’s 
top, and bush, and brake, and dell, birds of silver wing, 
and plumage of every hue, warbled out notes of sweet 
accord.—And methought the sparkling torrent, that ran 
down the mountain side, had music in it; and the low of 
herds that fed in Bethany, and bleating flocks, and every 
thing that had a voice, took part in that morning psalm to 
Israel’s God, to everybody’s God. Good Jew, had thy priest 
permitted me to worship in the great temple at Jerusalem, 
and even offered my sacrifice with his own hands, I question 
much if our heavenly Father would have given me a richer 
sentiment of adoption than on that mountain. I would 
that thou hadst been with me there; for, though I cannot 
sing one of your songs of Zion, yet there is one old song of 
joy, which all the beasts and birds sing by rote ; w r e would 
have sung that together, my brother, and helped out the 
tune with heart-sung bass. 

“ But here’s the inn : lean steadily on my arm, while I 
call the landlord. Gaius ! mine host! Ah, here he comes. 
Good sir, here is one of thy neighbours I found by the 
wayside, half murdered by prowling bandits, who left him 
bleeding in the dust. The softest bed thou hast in thy 
house, give him ; and if thou hast a physician who has 
skill to heal such wounds as these, bid him hither with all 
speed. And if in this neighbourhood there is any choice 
cordial, or anodyne, or balm, that will soothe this poor 
brother’s pain, bring them, cost what they may. Feel not 
for thy purse, good J ew; the robbers half-killed thee for 
that, and carried away thy raiment with it. But here is 
mine; ’tis somewhat shallower than thine was, ’tis true ; 
but what in it is, is thine. Nay, strain not thy voice to 
thank me ; for, though I am not quite sure I can trace my 
genealogy back through Jacob, or even Abraham, still thou 
art my brother. I do believe some unseen angel taught 
me that, while I was singing that psalm with the birds on 
the mountain this morning. ‘ Leave thee /’ dost thou ask, 
good friend 1 nay, it would make my evening journey long 
and heavy to leave thee to make acquaintance with these 
strangers here in the lone and painful hours of night. Nay, 
I will stay here by thy bed, and renovate thy pillow and 
the olive on these swathing bands, and wet thy lips with 


T1IE NEIGHBOURS. 


31 


soothing cordials. And when, from the balmy eyelids of 
the morning, the young light salutes thee through this low 
lattice, I will make thee a score of friends, who shall stand 
around thy bed with healing balm in their hands, and 
gentler anodynes of sympathy in their eyes and hearts, and 
sweet charity-droppings on their lips, that shall fall on thee 
like the dew of your own Hermon. 

“ Peace be with thee, my brother : it is but a little way 
to my journey’s end : I will quickly dispatch my business 
there, and, returning soon, bring thee some choice cordial 
thence to cheer thy heart with. Thou hast children, Jew 1 ? 
Two bright-haired boys, sayest thou ? I have also two at 
home of like age—heaven bless the four lads and their 
mothers ! If in Jericho any ingenious toys of Arabian or 
Indian skill are found, I’ll fill my pockets full of them, and 
w r e will divide them among our frolicksome boys at home. 
And now, good Abraham’s son, fare thee well! Be of good 
cheer till I return. Let no thought of thine dwell on the 
payment of thy physician and host here ; thy bill is settled, 
brother, for all they can do for thy comfort. Nor mind the 
distance that removes thy home, nor the loss of thy beast 
or money; for thou shalt ride good Athon here clear to thy 
own door. And I will walk by thy side as far as thy priest 
and Levite will let me, and make thy way pleasant with 
friendly cheer. Peace be with thee ! Nay, thou art wel¬ 
come to all that is in my purse, and heart, and house too, 
shouldest thou ever happen in Samaria. Fare thee well 1” 

Friends, what think you of this picture ? Ye connoisseurs 
of painting, what think you of the composition of this 
tableau vivant .? of its plot, the foreground, and back¬ 
ground, and dramatis 'personae ? Has the painter developed 
the real neighbour in his individuality? Hoes he look 
natural ? But this tableau is not a picture ; it is a 
mirror; let us hang it up before the conscience for one 
week, and perhaps we may see our own faces in it; or, at 
least, some family resemblance in the portraits of those 
three neighbours. 


32 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


THE NEIGHBOURS: 

OB, 

THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 

SECOND GLANCE. 

We have been contemplating a celebrated tableau vivant 
of a group of neighbours, which was executed by a master- 
hand more than eighteen hundred years ago. We suggested 
that it might possess, besides its other marvellous qualities, 
that capacity of reflection which is common to every mirror. 
We were invited to hang it up before our consciences, in 
order to test this reflective capacity. Have we done so ? 
and, as face answers to face in a glass, did it give back to 
us some well-known features % 

To overcome any obliquity of the resemblance, let us 
analyze each of the characters that figure in this portrait. 
We will first take up the several great principles that enter 
into the basis of the plot, and then proceed from stroke to 
stroke, and feature to feature. We will commence with the 
first neighbour, the Priest. This reverend gentleman sus¬ 
tained the most intimate relation to the maltreated Jew. 
Local proximity made him his neighbour. His sacer¬ 
dotal office made him his spiritual guide and teacher. 
It was, in fact, his profession to love him as himself; 
to watch over him, to counsel and aid him in his neces¬ 
sity, to comfort him in his affliction. His unfortunate 
parishioner looked up to him with a soul of filial confidence ; 
he regarded him as his friend ; he was to him, as it were, 
somewhat in Hod’s stead; presenting his oblations, and 
propitiating the divine blessing upon his head. 

But the simple-hearted parishioner fell among thieves, 
who robbed him and left him half dead in a desert place, 
away from his home. And by chance his minister came 
down that way, and saw him in this pitiable condition. 
He saw his bleeding wounds, for the thieves had stripped 
him of his raiment. He heard his groans and long-drawn 
sighs for help. He saw what hope of relief the sound of his 
footstep had awakened in the poor man’s heart: he heard 
his inarticulate cries for mercy : he could have raised him 
from his bloody wallowing place. The means of mercy 
were in his hands, but he passed by on the other side, 
without a look or word of pity ! 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 33 

Was he a neighbour 1 No ! Why not ? He sustained 
all the local affinities of that relation ; why, then, was 
he not his neighbour ? The reason constitutes the great 
morale of the case. He had never obeyed the first com¬ 
mandment, never loved God with all his mind, soul, and 
strength. The evidence of this was brought out in startling 
prominence by his conduct to his neighbour. The great 
principle, wrought out by philosophical demonstration in 
this parable, is the eternal truth, that the love of our 
neighbour is not only a constituent element, but the only 
evidence of our love to God. Hence, the repeated de¬ 
clarations of the gospel are corroborated by every principle 
of moral philosophy, when they assert that no one can 
love God without loving his neighbour. 

As in the case of Pharaoh’s dream, two illustrations were 
employed by our Saviour to develop this truth. The 
Levite succeeded the priest in the same course and for the 
same end as the seven lean ears followed the seven lean kine 
in the Egyptian’s vision. Like that memorable dream, the 
parable was one ; it illustrated but one proposition. The 
Levite, indeed, sustained a more intimate local relation 
to the Jew. In his religious and civil duties, he came in 
half-way between him and the Priest. He might have had 
more personal intercourse with him, lived near his dwelling, 
met him oftener in the streets and in the Temple, been 
more in his confidence, and better acquainted with his 
family. He lacked but one thing of being an excellent 
neighbour ; and that was, the love of God in his heart. 

Man never did and never can create a greater distance 
between himself and his fellow, than that which divided 
between the Jew and the Samaritan. Local proximity, a 
common fealty to the Roman empire, a mutual contention 
for the same religious faith, tenacious claims to the same 
lineage, a close resemblance of language and customs, made 
them not neighbours, but mutual enemies. The Samaritans 
had the disadvantage, in their hatred to the Jews, in being 
the despised party,—an aggravation that added acrimony 
to their hostility. The Jews had expelled them from their 
communion, not so much as enemies as vagabonds, branded 
with every epithet of contempt and harrowing indignity. 
Had the Samaritans burned the temple they built on Mount 
Gerizim, and their pentateuch, and espoused any form of 
idolatry, they would have escaped the deathless fury of that 


34 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


indignation which has always visited that sin of sins, heresy , 
or a difference of religious opinion and worship. 

The Samaritan in the parable, of course, was fully aware 
of the sentiments the wounded traveller had cherished 
towards him the very morning he left Jerusalem. He knew 
it was part of the Jew’s religion to despise and hate him. 
It is this circumstance that confers an eternal lustre upon 
his act of mercy. Had the traveller been a mortal enemy ; 
had nothing but a dignified hatred divided the parties, the 
pleasure of a magnanimous conquest of the heart of a foe 
might have inspired the noble deed. But no such condi¬ 
tion offered a middle ground of charity. When the good 
Samaritan alighted from his mule and bent over the bleeding 
man, he knew that he had been an object of disgust and 
religious repugnance to the person he was about to succour. 
He had sufficient reason to believe that the Jew would 
have driven him from his door, or his dogs chased him 
from Jerusalem, had he applied there for aid or social inter¬ 
course. With the recollection of all this bitter prejudice, 
wrong, and insult, darting through his mind, a half-sup¬ 
pressed thought might have whispered to his memory,—“ Is 
this my neighbour ?” Is this proud man, who has hated me 
all his life, despised me, treated me as a vagabond, excom¬ 
municated me from the human family, cursed my children 
and my grave, and theirs and my disembodied spirit ,—is 
this man my neighbour 9 Such a thought may or may not 
have passed through his mind. If it did, it checked not 
the instantaneous impulse of his sympathy. But was the 
Jew his neighbour % He knew that he sustained a blood 
relation to God ; that they both had one heavenly Father, 
and, consequently, were not only neighbours, but brethren. 
In other words, his charity to the helpless Jew was nothing 
else than an involuntary exercise of the love of God, that 
was burning on the altar of his heart. The instantaneous 
impulse of his philanthropy was a regular pulse of his 
religion,—his deed of mercy an involuntary emotion of his 
faith. His conduct on the occasion developed the whole 
philosophy of the moral law. It illustrated the great prin¬ 
ciple, that a man cannot be a neighbour , or love his brother 
as himself, without first loving Glod w r ith all his soul, and 
mind, and strength. 

This principle established, the parable brings out, in 
beautiful elucidation, the result of the problem. Who is my 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


35 

neighbour ?” At every stage of the position we see the horizon 
of our neighbourhood expand and expand, until it embraces 
the whole continent of humanity. But the glorious corol¬ 
lary embodies the whole genius of the gospel, and the great 
philanthropy of God. Ye angels and ministers of grace ! 
here is a truth that makes one of the elements of heaven : 
Our neighbour is Man ! wherever he may be found, what¬ 
ever may be the colour of his skin, into whatever pit of 
misery and degradation he may have fallen. Yes, my 
friends, neither principalities nor powers, nor things present 
or to come, can ever break up that heaven-created relation. 
The long dark annals of despotism, reaching back to the 
murder of Abel; all the blood that has steeped the earth 
for unrecorded years of violence, wrong, and outrage; all 
the chains of bondage that have fettered human souls to 
hopeless slavery, have never worn in two a single liga¬ 
ment of that mysterious connexion which exists between 
man and man. Is your fellow-being guilty of a skin not 
coloured like your own ? Do you suspect him of poverty, 
guilt, or misery ? Is he a heretic, a Roman Catholic, an 
infidel, or a pagan ? He is your brother still; and no dis¬ 
parity of condition, character, or sentiment, will release you 
from the great cardinal obligation of loving him as yourself. 

Let an individual keep this love burning in his heart, 
and he will never ask in the presence of a human being,— 
“ Who is my neighbour V* The neighbourhood of such a man 
will embrace the world. Reducing this great truth to a 
practical application, we come to this important principle, 
—■Whatever we do for God , we must do to our neighbour. 
Our neighbourhood is the only field of labour that he has 
assigned his children in this state of probation. The 
slightest act of philanthropy, performed in the spirit of 
Jesus, he will accept as done unto himself. Nor has he 
stationed us in this field alone, to labour under the task¬ 
master of the law. He has entered it himself, clothed with 
all the attributes of his omnipotence, grace, and truth, to 
labour with us. He comes to give his children the example 
of a Father; that, like his eternal Son, they may say,—“ Our 
Father works , therefore we work to promote the happiness 
of the great neighbourhood of mankind. Is the servant 
greater than his lord, or the disciple than his master ? Go 
work with God ! think of that! go into co-partnership with 
him ! to share in the profits of salvation with our Re- 


THE NEIGHBOURS. 


3G 

deemer ! to enter first into tlie labour, and then into the 
joy of our Lord, and spend an eternity upon the equal 
dividends of Redemption ! Shall we decline his service, 
when all that we do in concert with him is done for our¬ 
selves ? Nor is this service onerous or unpleasant. “ His 
yoke is easy and his burden light.'’ A cup of cold water 
given in the spirit of our Master, the slightest expression 
or act of kindness to one of these little ones that throng 
our neighbourhood, he will accept as works of co-operation 
with him, in the great field of philanthropy. L es, the 
humblest disciple,—be he too poor to give aught but a tear, 
a prayer, a kind look, to alleviate the bitterness of human 
woe,—may feel that he is a co-worker with God. 

What an importance, then, does our conduct to our 
neighbour assume ! It is faith rendered visible,—our 
religion materialised. Let us examine it in this form, and 
see if it is the substance of things done as well as hoped for. 

It may be a part of the economy of Divine Goodness to 
keep our field of labour continually supplied with objects 
of charity and beneficence. This provision extends to all 
the members of the human family, individually and collec¬ 
tively. For the whole Christian world, there is a whole 
pagan world to labour for. For one enlightened corner, 
there are three “ dark corners of the earth” to be supplied 
with the light of the gospel. For one abode of Christianity 
and civilization, there are a thousand habitations of cruelty 
to be regenerated. For one free nation, there are a hundred 
ruled with the iron rod of despotism, to be rescued from 
tyranny. For one land of the brave and home of the free, 
there are a hundred Egypts of human bondage to empty of 
slaves. For one Hampden or Washington, there area hun¬ 
dred Pharaohs to soften down to mercy and justice. Just 
so with the individual Christian : could he live till time 
shall be no more, he would always find some new object of 
charity provided to exercise his kindly sympathies; some one 
toward whom he could manifest the spirit of Jesus ; whom 
he could labour, and weep, wish, and pray for ; whom he 
could raise to another degree of knowledge and happiness. 
The Christian, if I may say so, is an apprentice to Jesus 
Christ , in this period of probation. He is here learning 
the trade of love and mercy, which he is going to carry on 
with his heavenly Master, on an infinitely increasing scale, 
through all the cycles of eternity^ Apprentice ! apprentice ! 


GOD IS LOVE. 


37 

nay, more,—the everlasting Son of God had taken him into 
co-partnership with him already ! he offers him a share of 
all the purchase of his blood, and all the wealth of God. 

Each one of us has a home-stead, a home-field assigned 
him in this heaven-appointed distribution of charity- 
works. Let us survey our fields, and “ what our hands find 
to do, do quickly with our mightfeeling that it is God 
that ivorketh in us, by his own good pleasure, to will and 
to do. 


“GOD IS LOV E.” 

Love is to all the attributes of God, what God is to the 
three persons in the Trinity—the sum, the substance. 
Love is the sun in which all the tributaries of God’s cha¬ 
racter meet and find their source. The light of that sun is 
peace. Love is the Elohim of God’s infinite power, and 
wisdom, goodness, justice, and truth. Every law which he 
has given, whether written in his word, or upon the heart 
of man, or in the human system, or in the solar system—is 
holy, just, and good. It is a ray, a radiation from love, the 
sun, the god-head of his attributes; and of each of those 
attributes it is an emanation, an evidence ; and wherever 
it is obeyed, whether in the human soul, or human society, 
or in matter, or motion, there is peace, perfect peace. 
“ Great peace have they that love thy law.” 

God’s moral laws, the radiations of his being, were de¬ 
signed to converge in the human heart, and form there 
another sun, whose light is peace—peace irradiating every 
action of the life, and every emotion of the soul. Love in 
the heart of God is the sum of his infinite attributes, the 
source of all his laws. Love in the heart of man is the 
fulfilling, the confluence of those laws. Thus, “ God is a 
sun,” and the human heart a satellite revolving around the 
great heart of God, and receiving its rays, and reflecting its 
light. 

The royal law of love is a pencil of God’s attributes, 
perfusing the human soul with the grand generic element 
of his being, his love, and with the light of that love, which 
is peace. Nay, more ; the connexion between the sun and 
its satellite comes far short of illustrating the unity sub¬ 
sisting between God and him who keeps his royal law. 



38 


A WAR WITH ENGLAND. 


Says the apostle, “ He that dwelletk in love, dwelleth in 
God, and God in him —love merges his heart in the heart 
of God, a tributary to that ocean of bliss and light and 
peace, with which the effluence of God’s being would fill 
the universe, were his royal law obeyed in all worlds as it 
is in heaven. 


A WAR WITH ENGLAND. 

“ In case of a war with England ,” is a hypothetical 
contingency which seems to lie at the foundation of our 
political ethics. From the remotest limit of our remem¬ 
brance, a partisan press and a press of partisan dema¬ 
gogues, patriotic all as Absalom, have done their best to 
keep alive the war-spirit in the public mind, by plying it 
with presentiments and suppositions, and even with pecu¬ 
niary estimations, of “ a war with England.” Every Presi¬ 
dent that has been raised to the throne of our elective 
monarchy, since we learned the alphabet, has evinced, in 
his annual Message, a paternal and pusillanimous solicitude 
for the defence of the country “ in case of a tear with 
England .” In every insidious way, and from every source 
of high authority, the people have been studiously educated 
into the impression, that a “ war with England ,” was as 
certain as the great battle of Armageddon. Long-faced 
predictions and patriotic presentiments of this event have 
generated a fund of patriotism which sees nothing in our 
political heavens but bloody portents of such a war, nor 
recognises any other virtue than a watchful and malignant 
jealousy of “ our old and natural enemy.” This carefully- 
cherished sentiment and attitude of apprehension have cost 
the United States about 500,000,000 dollars since the last 
“ war with England,”—“ enough to buy such another 
island.” 

Nearly three-fourtlis of the whole revenue of the country 
are annually expended in putting it in an attitude of 
defence against that power. The long, bloated purse of 
the Government, too stringently closed to emit a fourpence 
for any great public work of a pacific character, disgorges 
“ millions for defence” in any swamp or wilderness, or 
barren promontory on the coast, liable to an attack “ in 
case of a war with England.” If a gieat national road is 



A WAR WITH ENGLAND. 


39 


to be built, why, its necessity must be established “ in case 
of a war with England.” Vain are all applications to the 
Government for aid or consent to clear out rivers, erect 
break-waters, light-houses, or construct long routes of in¬ 
tercommunication, unless they have a decided reference to 
the contingency of “ a war with England.” It fosters no 
genius with its patronage, which conceives or invents any 
other benefits to humanity than paixhan guns, sub-marine 
batteries, 'percussion caps , and huge steam squirt-guns for 
deluging an enemy’s ship with scalding water,—“ in case 
of a war with England.” Upon this great law of defence — 
we say it with reverence to the allusion—hang all the laws 
and prophets, and political religion of this Government. Its 
only accessible side is so palpable to the public, that no one 
asks its support to a great work of universal utility, without 
appealing to its ruling passion by exaggerating the benefits 
of the enterprise “ in case of a war with England.” As 
illustrative of this policy, and its necessity, Mr. Whitney, 
in his recent memorial to Congress for its aid and sanction 
to construct a railroad from Lake Michigan to the Pacific 
Ocean, mentions, as first among its magnificent benefits, the 
facility of “ concentrating all the forces of our vast country 
at any point from Maine to Oregon, in the interior or on 
the coast,” “ in case of a war with England,” of course. 

“ In case of a ivar with England?” Let us for a 
moment analyse that idea, which has been rendered so 
familiar to the public mind. And here we would not 
inquire into the cause of such a war, for however “ holy 
and just ” a war may be blasphemously called, it never 
affects the case ; it never relieves its moral consequences of 
one feature of the curse which the Almighty has attached 
to a resort to arms. The cause of a war with England— 
which a majority of our Southern and Western legislators 
are trying to provoke—is a question of controversy with 
regard to the possession of the Oregon territory. Neither 
England, the United States nor Spain, has so good a title 
to that territory, as Ahab had to Naboth’s vineyard, the 
nuncio , or letters patent of the Pope to the contrary not¬ 
withstanding. Let the right of discovery of an inhabited 
region be pleaded by Jesuits at the bar of the Pope, where 
it was invented; the law of common sense and common 
honesty rejects such pagan policy. 

A war with England would be a war of desolation upon 


40 


A WAR WITH ENGLAND. 


all the interests of humanity, and carry, through all the 
regions of the race, a curse whose malignity the light of 
eternity alone would disclose. A war with England now ! 
Christian, look out upon the heathen world and contem¬ 
plate the wide-reaching ruin, the blackness of darkness, 
which such a catastrophe would bring over the dark habi¬ 
tations of fallen man, to the uttermost corners of the earth. 
The sun of the Gospel, for centuries, has been eclipsed with 
human blood ; and would you see its annular, emerging 
rays enshrouded by another sanguinary deluge, leaving the 
lands on which they fall to sink back into the starless 
night of paganism ? Adjust the terrible consequences of 
such a war to these higher latitudes of hope to which the 
human family have been raised by civilization and Chris¬ 
tianity. Where were your missionary stations during the 
last war; your mission ships; your preparations for 
preaching the gospel of peace among the heathen ? Had 
you any of either upon the ocean or on a foreign land to 
be perilled in the conflict between two Christian nations ? 
Let us assist your imagination in sketching a scene which 
a collision with Great Britain would draw in lines of fire 
in sight of the new-built churches on a heathen coast. 

War has been declared between the tw T o great Anglo- 
Saxon nations for a territory, which each would feel too poor 
to buy, if to take a single infant on its mother’s breast and 
hang it on the gibbet, were the purchase price. There are 
two proud ships, freighted with armed men, who yesterday 
were brothers, bearing up to some small sea-port on the 
coast of India. Each has on board half a score of mis¬ 
sionaries, “shod with the preparation of the gospel of 
peace,” and sent in a government ship to preach the heart- 
subduing truths of the Christian religion to the benighted 
pagan. There, a little way from the shore, is the humble 
missionary-house, and the old toil-worn missionary stands 
with tears of joy in the door, waiting to greet the new band 
of labourers to the mission-field. The native children of 
his school, press round him and share his joy, while their 
fathers and all the rude heathen of the hills run down to 
the beach to see the approaching ships. Slowly they near 
each other and the land ; one bearing in the starry drapery 
at its mast-head, a gilded eagle, the other a lion, and on 
their decks men in black and men in red, but all speaking 
the same language, professing to be children of the same 


A WAR WITII ENGLAND. 


41 

heavenly Father. A sign of mutual recognition passes 
between the two ships, and a hundred doors instantly open 
in their sides, disclosing rows of large-mouthed cannon. 
Every man on hoard brandishes a long silver-handed but¬ 
cher-knife, or a loaded musket, except the missionary, who 
carries a Bible at his side instead of the cartridge-box. A 
moment of silence ensues, while an American and English 
minister of the Gospel of Peace pray to the God of battles to 
fight for both the eagle and the lion. Then, like floating 
volcanoes, the two vessels belch forth at each other from 
their iron craters’ fire and smoke and torrents of red lava. 
Hocking and reeling in the reddened sea, the tall-masted 
ships approach each other amid the horrid combustion. 
The tempest of fire and smoke grows more and more terrific. 
The quick explosion and crash of the iron thunderbolts; 
the falling of masts ; the cry of fighting and dying men; the 
groaning of the broken-ribbed ships ; the plunge of headless 
bodies beneath the crimsoned waves ; the hoarse braying of 
the battle-trumpet; the oaths and fierce imprecations of 
maddened human beings, all mingling their hellish echoes 
in the fiery chaos, are to the unconverted pagans on the 
shore the sound of the feet which profess to “ bring good 
tidings of great joy to all people.” To their unenlightened 
hearts, this ministration of fire and blood, this scene of 
mutual butchery, is associated with the ministrations of 
the gospel of Jesus Christ,—an illustration of international 
Christianity among Christian nations ! Follow those mis¬ 
sionaries to the shore from the slippery decks of the two 
dismantled ships. Release them from the law that made 
them enemies, and let them stand up before the unchris¬ 
tianised natives, and with their shoes full of Christian 
blood, tell them the story of the cross, of the peace¬ 
breathing doctrines of Jesus—of the spirit of his life and 
precepts—of his great law of love, which commands his 
followers to love their enemies, to resist not evil, but to 
overcome evil with good. How, think you, would such 
precepts, from such lips, fall upon pagan ears ? After such 
a baptism in fire and blood and burning hate, what element 
would there remain in the Christian religion to commend 
it to the hearts of the worshippers of Juggernaut % 

Is this a fancy sketch, American Christian 1 It is but a 
back-ground lineament, feebly drawn,—a minor incident, 
of that great catastrophe imminent upon humanity in this 


42 


BURY ME IN THE GARDEN. 


matter of the Oregon territory. IfThis world is ever to be 
redeemed from the tyranny of darkness and despotism of 
sin, it will, it must, be done through the Anglo-Saxon race. 
A war with England, for any cause, would be a war with 
God, his gospel, the spirit and precepts of his religion ; with 
humanity, with all living and future generations of men on 
the whole earth. The discharge of the first paixhan gun in 
such a contest w T ould not only sink a ship, but it would sink 
the whole heathen world to the deepest depths of that moral 
night in which they groped a century ago ! A war with 
England ! it would be the greatest curse that has visited 
this world since the fall of man ! 


“ BURY ME IN THE GARDEN.” 

There was sorrow there, and tears were in every eye; 
and there were low half-suppressed sobbings heard from 
every corner of the room ; but the little sufferer was still : 
its young spirit was just on the verge of departure. The 
mother was bending over it in all the speechless yearnings 
of parental love, with one arm under its pillow, and with 
the other, unconsciously drawing the little dying girl closer 
and closer to her bosom. Poor thing! in the bright and 
dewy morning it had followed out behind its father into 
the field; and while he was there engaged in his labour, it 
had patted around among the meadow-flowers, and had 
stuck its bosom full, and all its burnished tresses, with 
carmine and lily-tinted things ; and returning tired to 
its father’s side, he had lifted it upon the loaded cart; but 
a stone in the road had shaken it from its seat, and the 
ponderous iron-rimmed wheels had ground it down into 
the very cart-path—and the little crushed creature was 
dying. 

We had all gathered up closely to its bed-side, and were 
hanging over the young bruised thing, to see if it yet 
breathed, when a slight movement came over its lips, and 
its eyes partly opened. There w r as no voice, but there was 
something beneath its eyelids, w r hich a mother alone could 
interpret. Its lips trembled again, and we all held our 
breath—its eyes opened a little farther, and then we heard 
the departing spirit whisper in that ear which touched 
those ashy lips :—“ Mother ! mother ! don’t let them carry 




THE DRUNKARD’S WIFE. 43 

me away down to the dark, cold grave-yard, but bury me 
in the garden—in the garden, mother.” 

A little sister, whose eyes were raining down with the 
meltings of her heart, had crept up to the bed-side, and 
taking the hand of the dying girl, sobbed aloud in its ears, 
—“ Julia ! Julia ! can’t you speak to Antoinette V 

The last fluttering pulsation of expiring nature, struggled 
hard to enable that little spirit to utter one more wish and 
word of affection : its soul was on its lips, as it whispered 
again:—“Bury mo in the garden, mother—bury me in 

the -” and a quivering came over its limbs, one 

feeble struggle, and all was still. 


THE DRUNKARD’S WIFE. 

0 

There are new developments of human character, which, 
like the distant stars, are yet to visit the eye of man and 
operate upon human society. Ever since the image of the 
Godhead was first sketched in Eden, its great Author and 
angels have been painting upon it; men have tried their 
hands upon it ; influences, like the incessant breath of 
Heaven, have left each its line upon the canvass ; still 
the finishing stroke of the pencil will not be accomplished 
until the last lingering survivor of “ the wreck of matter 
and the crush of worlds,” “ is changed in the twinkling of 
an eye.” 

The hemisphere of the present age is studded all over 
with such pearls “ and patines of bright gold,” as never 
shone before in the heavens of the human soul. In these 
latter days, the waves of time have washed up from depths 
that angels never fathomed, “ gems of purer light serene” 
than were ever worn before in the crown of man. We are 
now but half way advanced in a new cycle of human society. 
The race is but just emerging from the long-reaching 
shadows of an iron age, and coming out into the starlight 
and sunlight of new influences. If, as we are assured, scores 
of new stars have taken rank with the heavenly hosts, 
during the last two centuries, stars brighter than they, 
have, in the same period, kindled up new lights in the 
moral firmament. Among these new stars, one, a little 
lower than that of Bethlehem, has just appeared above the 




44 


THE DRUNKARD’S WIFE. 


horizon. It is the star of woman’s influence ! Influential 
woman is a being of scarcely two centuries ; up to that 
period, and almost hitherto, her influences have fallen upon 
human character and society, like the feeble rays of a 
rising winter’s sun upon polar fields of ice. But her sun 
is reaching upward. There is a glorious meridian to which 
she shall as surely come as to-morrow’s sun shall reach his 
in our natural heavens. What man will be when she shall 
smile on him then and thence, we are unable to divine; 
but we can found no anticipation from the influence of her 
dawning rays. Her morning light has gilded the visions 
of human hope, and silvered over the night shadows of 
human sorrow. There has been no depth of human misery 
beyond the reach of her ameliorating influence, nor any 
height of human happiness which she has not raised still 
higher. Whoever has touched at either of these extremi¬ 
ties, could attest that “ neither height nor depth, nor prin¬ 
cipalities, nor powers, nor things present or to come,” could 
divert or vitiate the accents and anodynes of her love. 
Whether we trace the lineaments of her character in the 
mild twilight of her morning sun, or in the living beams 
of her risen day, we find that she has touched human 
society like an angel. It would be irreverent to her worth 
to say, in what walks of life she has walked most like an 
angel of light and love ; in what vicissitudes, in what joy 3 
or sorrows, in what situations or circumstances, she has 
most signally discharged the heavenly ministrations of her 
mission ; what ordeals have best brought out the radiance 
of her hidden jewels ; what fruitions of earthly bliss, or 
furnaces of affliction, have best declared the fineness of her 
gold. Still, there is a scene which has escaped the “ vul¬ 
ture’s eye,” and almost every other eye, where she has cast 
forth her costliest pearls, and shown such qualities of her 
native character, as almost merit our adoration. This 
scene has been allotted to the drunkard's wife. How she 
has filled this most desperate outpost of humanity, will be 
revealed when the secrets of human life shall be disclosed 
“ to more worlds than this.” When the history of hovels 
and of murky garrets shall be given in, when the career of 
the enslaved inebriate shall be told, from the first to the 
lowest degree of his degradation—there will be a memorial 
made of woman, worthy of being read and heard in heaven. 
From the first moment she gave up her young and hoping 


THE DRUNKARDS WIFE. 


4 5 

heart, and all its treasures, into the hands of him she loved, 
to the luckless hour when the charmer, wine, fastened 
around the loved one, all the serpent spells of its sorcery— 
down through all the crushing of her young-born hopes— 
through years of estrangement and strange insanity—when 
harsh unkindness bit at her heart-strings with an adder’s 
tooth—thence down through each successive depth of dis¬ 
grace and misery, until she bent over the drunkard’s grave ; 
through all these scenes, a halo of divinity has gathered 
around her, and stirred her to angel deeds of love. When 
the maddened victim tried to cut himself adrift from the 
sympathy and society of God and man, she has clung to 
him and held him to her heart with hooks of steel. And 
when he was cast out, all defiled with his leprous pollution 
—when he was reduced to such a thing as the beasts of the 
field would bellow' at—there was one who still kept him 
throned in her heart of hearts ; who could say to the fallen, 
drivelling creature, “ Although you are nothing to the 
world, you are all the world to me? When that awful 
insanity of the drunkard set in upon him, with all its 
fiendish shapes of torture ; while he lay writhing beneath 
the scorpion stings of the fiery phantasies and furies of 
delirium tremens —there was a woman by his side, en-sexed 
with all the attributes of her loveliness. There was her 
tearful, love-beaming eye, that never dimmed but with 
tears wken the black spirits were around him. 

There she stood alone, and in lone hours of night, to 
watch his breathings, with her heart braced up with the 
omnipotence of her love. No ! brute as he v r as, not a tie 
which her young heart had thrown around him in his 
bright days, had ever given way, but had grown stronger 
as he approached the madir of his degradation. And if he 
sank into that dark, hopeless grave, she en-sw r athed him in 
her broken heart, and laid it in his coffin ; or if some 
mighty angel’s voice or arm brought him up from the 
grave of drunkenness, the deepest ever dug for man, he 
came forth, Lazarus-like, bound fast and for ever in the 
cerements of her deathless affection. 

Such is her sceptre ; such are the cords which she 
throw's around the wayward and wandering, and leads 
them back to virtue and to Heaven, saying as she gives 
him in, “ Here am /, and he whom thou gave st me.’ 


4 G 


DISMANTLED ARSENALS. 


DISMANTLED ARSENALS. 

We love to contemplate the ruins of those black-looking 
war-factories that were wont to pour forth a stream that 
gladdened the fellest spirit that ever breathed on this green 
world. There they stand in haggard desolation, like things 
built before the sun was made, and unable to bear its light; 
or like a bloated, ragged drunkard before a mirror with a 
thousand angel faces in it. Still and cold is now that ter¬ 
rible, mysterious enginery that turned the best things nature 
ever made for man into lava-streams of hot poison, that 
burnt his heart up with fierce inhuman passions. And 
those coiled, copper-coloured worms are dead—the greedy 
metallic snakes that devoured whole fields of yellow grain 
a day, the bread for which a thousand widows prayed, and 
plied their lean fingers at the midnight hour. They are 
dead ! and when they died, their fiery malignant ghosts, I 
trow, were expelled the fellowship of better spirits in the 
bottomless pit, that could not brook their alcoholic breath. 
They are dead, the skulking reptiles ! that, half-buried in 
the earth, poured invisible their rivulets of blighting ruin 
into the fountains of human happiness and life ; that stung 
to death, in the sunniest walks of youth, hopes that took 
hold of heaven, of earth, of the love and joy of a thousand 
hearts. They are dead ! and the stream is dry that fed the 
veins of War with hot vitality. And, next, that monstrous 
Gorgon will die. Depend upon it; War never had in its 
devil’s heart any other blood than rum. Nay, its heart 
itself is but a vast distillery, keeping its huge veins and 
arteries full of that fiery fluid. The vat of fermenting 
grain and cane juice is the stomach of War, and the still- 
worm its viscera. These are the nutritive and digestive 
organs of the great red dragon : and for this,—like other 
dragons killed in olden times—it must be mortal; for rum 
is mortal, and all its fiery fountains will dry up, while the 
earth is full of springs of water, pure and sweet as that 
which the sinless Adam drank out of the hand of God. 

Will war die ? War that claimed the immortality of 
Death and Sin ? Yes; and Death, and Sin, and Satan, will 
live to weep over the grave of their renowned confederate. 
And such a funeral! methinks I see it now. The earth, 
sea, and sky, are vibrating with joyous emotion, and there 


DISMANTLED ARSENALS. 


47 


is gladness in the heart of every living thing. The dust of 
fourteen thousand million of human beings butchered in 
the battle-field, stirs into life and form : and up springing 
from their coral graves and caverns fathomless in the sea, 
myriads of human skeletons leap upon the land and clap 
their bony hands in triumph, and around the globe runs 
the exulting gibber of “ the sheeted dead,” that the great 
Destroyer has fallen. And yonder, metliinks, there rolls 
a sea, full fifty fathoms deep—a dark, dead, salt sea of 
tears, fed by the outlets of a hundred thousand millions of 
human eyes that wept at War’s doings. And now a wailing 
wind, a monsoon of widows’ and orphans’ sighs moves over 
the briny deep, and lifts its bitter waves in sympathy with 
the world’s jubilee. And Labour, wan, dejected Labour, at 
whose veins the monster fed, runs up and down the green 
hills exulting to see the curse removed. And red-handed 
Slavery, the eldest thing of the leprous beast, lets go from 
her palsied hands the bonded millions she held with iron 
grasp, to throw their fetters into the grave of war, and shout 
for joy with all the sons of God that man is free. And all 
beings that live and love the face of man, the face of nature 
—that love to look up into the pure, peaceful sky, and on 
the peaceful sea, and fields and fiocks,—that love to com¬ 
mune with the silent harmonies of the great creation, and 
listen to the music of unreasoning things,—all these fill the 
heavens with one jubilate! that the great Cannibal is dead 
«—the great Man-eater, that, whetting its appetite on the 
flesh of Abel, ate up a large portion of the human race, 
and enslaved the rest to cater to the appetites of its 
wolfish maw. 


AN APPRENTICE’S WAY OF ACQUIRING A 

LIBRARY. 

“ Why, Frank Wilson ! How—where on earth did you 
get all these books ? Here !—what! the Knickerbocker 
too ! and the North American ! Now, Frank, where did you 
get the money to buy all these h Why, I have ten dollars a 
year more than you, yet I have to send down to father for 
money almost every month. You take the Knickerbocker, 
indeed ; Why, there are none but ’Squire Waters and Doctor 



AN APPRENTICE’S WAY 


48 

Marvin in the whole town, who think themselves able to 
have such a costly work, which is only fit for a few rich 
people to read. Pretty well, eh ! for a poor apprentice to 
a soap-boiler ! Where did you get that book-case, and all 
those books that you have got stuck up there % Let’s see— 
Plutarch’s Lives ! Who’s he ? what’s that about 1 Rollin’s 
Ancient History ! why didn’t he write it all in one small 
book, as well as to have a dozen about it ? Gibbon’s Rome ! 
there’s no such place in the United States. Why, my dear 
fellow, what a long list of outlandish names you’ve got here ! 
let me see—Milton, Shakspeare, Young, Pope, Dryden, 
Cowper, Bacon, Locke, Goldsmith, and all the other Smiths 
in creation, as well as those in America ! Now, come, I will 
light my Plavanna, and sit down here, and give you a 
chance to explain how you, an apprentice, with only forty 
dollars a year, contrive to scrape together a library half as 
large as Parson Drayton’s.” 

Francis Wilson did not interrupt this interrogatory and 
exclamatory medley of words from his comrade, by an 
explanation, until he had exhausted all his incoherent in¬ 
quiries. Sitting down in the proffered chair, and lighting 
his long nine, Edward Saunders placed his feet upon his 
friend’s clean desk, and seemed really to be waiting for a 
detailed account of the modus operandi by which an ap¬ 
prentice could acquire honestly such a collection of valuable 
books. Nor did Francis hesitate to gratify his curiosity. 
Both of the young men were in the middle of their appren¬ 
ticeship, and the most cordial intimacy had subsisted 
between them from their youth. Edward was deficient in 
nothing so much as in that economy so necessary for an 
apprentice in expending his small annuity ; and Francis 
hit upon a very successful method of administering to his 
young friend a salutary lesson upon this subject, while he 
explained how even an apprentice could acquire a taste and 
the means for the cultivation of his intellect. 

“ Edward,” said he, taking up his pencil, “ I will explain 
to you in figures what seems to have excited your wonder, 
if you will permit me, by the way, to ask you a few ques¬ 
tions in order to solve the problem. I see you are very 
fond of smoking : how many cigars do you buy in a week V’ 

“ 0, none, of any account,” replied Edward, anticipating 
some unpleasant strictures upon his favourite practice ; 
“ after working all day, it is really a comfort to smoke one 


OF ACQUIRING A LIBRARY. 49 

genuine Havanna ; it does not amount to anything; I only 
smoke six in the course of the whole week.” 

“ Six Havannas a week,” repeated Francis, putting it 
down upon paper, with as much formality as if he were 
registering the data of a problem ; “ six a week at two 
cents a piece, amount to the very trifling sum of six dollars 
and twenty-four cents per annum. I suppose you spend a 
trifle at the fruit-shops,” continued Francis. “ Nothing 
worth mentioning,” replied Edward, rather startled at the 
aggregate of such little items ; “ all that I buy—apples, 
nuts, raisins, figs, oranges, &c., do not amount to ninepence 
a week ; why, that is not half as much as Tom Williams, 
the Goldsmith’s apprentice, spends for mint-juleps in half 
that time ; and besides, Francis, you know I never taste a 
drop of any kind of liquor, not even wine. You certainly 
can’t think that I lack economy, Frank !” 

“ Ninepence a week for nuts, raisins, oranges, and figs,” 
repeated Francis, in a low, serious tone, pronouncing the 
items, one by one, as he wrote them down, with all the 
precision and gravity of a clerk in a country store; 
“ ninepence a week amount to six dollars and fifty cents 
per annum, which, added to six dollars and twenty-four 
cents spent for cigars, make the trifling sum of twelve dol¬ 
lars and seventy-four cents for one year. Now, Edward, 
see what I have obtained for just this sum.—Here,” said 
he, taking down several neatly-bound volumes of the North 
American Review, and a handful of those of the Knicker¬ 
bocker, “ I have bought all these for a less sum than you 
have paid for cigars, nuts, &c., during the last year. And 
as for these other books which you see here in my case, I 
will tell you how I have obtained them, and how any other 
apprentice can do the same, with only thirty-six dollars a 
year too. You know our masters are very industrious and 
steady men, and are attentive to their business, and like to 
see their workmen so ; they prefer also to see them with a 
book in their hands when they have done their work, rather 
than to be lounging about at the taverns or in vicious com- 
jDany. So when my master saw that I liked to read every 
chance I could get, and spend all the money I could spare 
for books, he offered to give me ninepence an hour for all 
the time that I would work from twelve o’clock till one, 
p.m.. Asid that is the way, Edward, that I have bought all 
these books, which you thought I had borrowed, begged, or 

D 


50 


A SHORT LAY SERMON 


stolen. I work every noon-time half an hour, and earn 
enough every fortnight to buy one of these books—Milton’s 
Paradise Lost, for instance. To be sure, they are not bound 
in calf, nor are they gilt-edged ; but they contain the same 
matter as if they were, and that is enough for me. 5 ' 

“ When Edward Saunders had listened to this very in¬ 
teresting and simple explanation of his uncle’s apprentice, 
and had passed his eye over all the fine books in his little 
library, he arose suddenly at the very last words of Francis, 
and opening his little chamber-window, took out of his hat 
the half-dozen cigars which were to constitute his week’s 
stock of comfort, and, without saying a word, tossed them 
into the garden. A new fire of animation lit up his eye as 
he darted out of the room, turning only at the door to say, 
“ I’ll try it, Frank.” 

Edward Saunders, Esq., and the Hon. Francis Wilson, 
never forgot in their intimate intercourse in after life, their 
mutual computation of the cost of nuts and cigars, in the 
garret of the latter. 


A SHORT LAY SERMON FOR BOARDING SCHOOLS. 

“ IF GOD SO CLOTHE THE GRASS OF THE FIELD.” 

Matt. vi. 30. 

The social principle is the soul of the material universe. 
In the moral and intellectual world it i3 a species of spiri¬ 
tual gravitation, which does there what its physical col¬ 
league does throughout the universe of matter. While 
corporeal gravitation reaches across the amplitudes of space, 
and associates systems of suns and worlds, and moors them 
all around a common centre, the social principle reaches 
through the universe of mind, and associates all the orders 
of intelligent, sentient beings, and diffuses everywhere a 
spiritual attraction of heart to heart, mind to mind, angel 
to angel, man to man, man to God, and God to man. 

Even matter itself is pervaded with a ramification of this 
principle \ which sustains the same relation to gravitation 
as the nervous system does to the veins and arteries of the 
human body. Y ou cannot go into the meadow and pluck 
up a single daisy by the roots, without breaking up a 



FOR BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 


51 


society of nice relations, and detecting a principle more 
extensive and refined than mere gravitation. The handful 
of earth that follows the tiny roots of the little flower, is 
replete with social elements. A little social circle had 
been formed around that germinating daisy. The sun¬ 
beam and the dew-drop met there, and the soft summer 
breeze came whispering through the tall grass to join the 
silent concert. And the earths took them to their bosom 
and introduced them to the daisy germ : and they all went 
to work to show that flower to the sun. Each mingled in 
the honey of its influence, and they nursed “the wee canny 
thing” with an aliment that made it grow. And when it 
lifted its eyes towards the sky, they wove a soft carpet of 
grass for its feet. And the sun saw it through the green 
leaves and smiled as he passed on ; and then by starlight 
and by moonlight they worked on. And the daisy lifted 
up his head, and one morning, while the sun was looking 
upon the dews, it put on its silver-rimmed diadem, and 
showed its yellow petals to the stars. And it nodded to 
the little birds that were swimming in the sky. And all 
of them that had silver-lined wings came ; and birds in 
black, and gray, and quaker brown came ; and the queru¬ 
lous blue-bird, and the courtesying yellow-bird came, and 
each sung a native air at the coronation of that daisy. 

Every thing that sung or shone upon that wee modest 
flower, was a member of that social circle, and conspired to 
its harmony and added to its music. Heaven, earth, sky 
and sea were its companions; the sun and stars walked 
hand in hand with it as kindly as if they never saw 
another daisy, or had another companion. The sober 
ocean, even the distant Pacific, laded the fleet-winged 
clouds with sweet-savoured dews to brighten its counte¬ 
nance when the sun appeared. 

• Such was the social circle which you broke up when 
you put forth your hand to crush the little canny thing 
“ amang the stoure .” Such were the companions you 
severed, and the harmony you interrupted. This little 
social system was one of the least of those concentric circles 
which go on increasing in diameter, until the last sweeps 
around the whole universe, and completes the infinite series 
of harmonies which was celebrated by the morning stars on 
the birth-day of creation. 

How, all the members of this social circle were necessary 

d 2 


A SHORT LAY SERMON 


02 

to the well-being of that daisy. It needed such com¬ 
panions. It needed the sun-beam, the dew-drop, and rain¬ 
drop, and the soft summer breeze to develop its character 
and unfold its beauties. It needed the morning song of 
the birds and the chirping lay of the meadow stream to 
keep time by, as it waved its silver diadem to the titter¬ 
ing swallow’s wing. 

If, then, my young friends, our heavenly Father has 
provided such companions and social influences for the lily 
or the daisy, what provisions has he not made for the 
society of his children ! In the first place, his relation to 
them as Creator, makes them all brethren and sisters—all 
the children of one Father. Then all the revelations of his 
word and providence are designed to associate us together 
in one great family; offering to us all the same motives to 
obedience, the same earth, the same heaven, and home. 
All the teachings of our Saviour, all the promises of the 
Gospel, and the substance of faith, are designed to fit us for 
society, the society of earth and the society of heaven ; for 
the society of our fellow-beings, and the society of angels, 
our Redeemer, and our God. Whatever may be your 
destiny in this world or that to come, you never will be 
left alone ; you will be still the member of a society; you 
will be associated, through all the years of time and eternity, 
with beings whose happiness or misery you will have the 
capacity and disposition to increase. You are now acquir¬ 
ing an education; and that term may express to you 
merely a list of graceful accomplishments, fitting you for 
the transient brilliance of the draw r ing-room, or the easy 
gentility of the parlour. But let me, with a gentle hand, 
draw aside the intervening drapery of the eternal world, 
that you may know what an education means. Are you 
taking lessons upon the piano ; there are harps in heaven, 
and God has sent his teachers down to show you how to 
touch their golden strings. That is an education. Are 
you preparing to make a graceful debut in the upper 
circles of society ; yonder are upper circles of spirits blest 
and pure, and angels of highest rank ; and none but the 
graceful —full of the grace of Him who walked gracefully 
those golden streets amid “ the quiring cherubim,” and the 
rough road to Calvary’s top, amid the imprecations of 
blood-bought man,—none but those can be admitted to 
their society. To make a graceful debut there will require 


FOR BOARDING SCHOOLS. 


53 

an education , which the fastidious fashions of this world 
never dreamed of; an education, too, whose lessons must 
be learned in this infant school of time. Your heavenly 
Father has filled the world around you with invisible 
teachers ; the Spirit and the bride say come ; come “ learn 
of Him who was meek and lowly in heart,” and he will 
teach you the court language of that heavenly communion, 
the songs that he taught the seraphim when eternity was 
young—the songs that tremble on every golden harp, and 
float in the melody of angel lips over the waters of the 
crystal sea. The Gospel whispers, come! and opens its 
hallowed lips and all its sublime teachings \ and nature 
spreads out the breathing leaves of her vast volume, and 
with all the minstrelsy of her ten thousand tongues, comes 
in, under-tutor of Revelation,—to educate you for those 
successive circles of society which shall carry you upward, 
from communion to communion, into the fellowship of 
angels around the Throne. 

Never say or think, then, that you ha finished your 
education , until it has fitted you for these great ends of 
your being. Remember, that you are now not only forming 
a character, but choosing companions for eternity. Who 
and what those companions shall be, may be determined 
by the character of those whom you are choosing as asso¬ 
ciates now. Your heavenly Father has assigned you a 
little social circle on probation; if you learn to walk 
therein with the grace that was in Jesus Christ, small as 
it may be, you shall be promoted to another circle and 
another communion, until, in your upward gradations, you 
shall enter into the most intimate fellowship of the blest 
above. 

What importance, then, must inevitably attach to your 
deportment in the little circle in which you move ! It is 
the active scene and present compass of your probation; 
where all your acts of faith, religion, duty, and love must 
be performed. The Christian spirit cannot breathe in the 
contracted isolation of the heart; it must perfume the 
surrounding air, the air which others breathe. You must 
be the centre of a little solar system, in which your com¬ 
panions, like the sun-illumined planets, shall move in the 
reflection of your light. The education which shall fit 
you for the duties and pleasures of this sphere, must reach 
the dispositions of the heart as well as the faculties ot 
the mind. 



54 


STORMING QUEBEC. 


STORMING QUEBEC. 

WRITTEN SOON AFTER THE GREAT FIRE IN QUEBEC, IN THE 

SPRING OF 1845. 

As the conquest of Canada seems to have been a leading 
object in our two defensive wars with Great Britain, we 
would respectfully call the attention of all those whose 
patriotism is not “run” in a pair of bullet moulds, to the 
present juncture of affairs in Quebec. We are firmly per¬ 
suaded that that redoubtable city might be easily over¬ 
come, if a well-arranged descent were made upon it without 
a moment’s delay. And if Captain Polk would but com¬ 
mission us to fit out that great lazy leviathan, the Ohio, 
which lies basking its crocodile back in Boston harbour, 
and permit us to man and arm it with such men and arms 
as we wot of, we would engage to reduce that American 
Gibraltar in ten days without the loss of a single drop of 
blood. Who cares for Wolfe and Montgomery? Brave 
men they were, in a certain sort of fashion; but they did 
“ not know any thing about war,” about overcoming ene¬ 
mies ; they had not the Gospel knack of taking a city. 
Their tactics and tools were all short-sighted and short- 
bitted. The difficulty with them and all of their kind 
was this—they could not get at the enemy. They pushed 
thousands of their foes into eternity upon the points of 
their bayonets; their cannons fenced the plains of Abraham 
with windrows of dead men ; but they never killed an 
enemy. Enemies are as immortal as any malignant spirits, 
and you might as well hope to shoot sin stone dead, as to 
shoot an enemy. There is but one way given under heaven 
by which one can kill an enemy, and that is, by putting 
coals of fire upon his head ; that does the business for him 
at once. Lie in wait for him, and when you catch him in 
trouble, faint from hunger or thirst, or shivering w T ith cold, 
spring upon him like a good Samaritan, with your hands, 
eyes, tongue, and heart full of good gifts. Feed him, give 
him drink, and warm him with clothing and w r ords of 
kindness ; and he is done for. You have killed an enemy 
and made a friend at one shot. 

Now', as we w'ere saying, we should like to be put in 
command of the Ohio for thirty days. We would trundle 
out all that was made of iron, except the anchor, cable, 


STORMING QUEBEC. 


55 

and marlinspike—-we would not save a single cutlass, 
though it had been domesticated to a cheese knife. Then 
the way, we would lade down the huge vessel to the water’s 
edge with food and covering for human beings, should be 
a marvel in the carrying trade. The very ballast should 
be something good to eat. Let’s see—yes—we have it ! 
The ballast should be round clams, or the real quahaugs,— 
heavy as cast iron, and capital for roasting. Then we 
would build along, up, filling every square inch with w r ell- 
cured provisions. We would have a hogshead of bacon, 
mounted into every port-hole, each of which should dis¬ 
charge fifty hams a minute when the ship was brought into 
action. And the state-rooms should be filled with well- 
made garments, and the taut cordage, and the long taper¬ 
ing sj:>ars should be festooned with boys’ jackets and trou¬ 
sers. Then, when there should be no more room for 
another codfish or herring, or sprig of catnip, we would 
run up the white flag of peace, and, ere the moon changed, 
it should wave in triumph in the harbour of Quebec. We 
w r ould anchor under the silent cannon of her Gibraltar, and 
open our butteries upon the hungry and houseless thou¬ 
sands begging bread upon the hot ashes of their dwellings. 
We would throw as many hams into the city, in twenty- 
four hours, as there were bomb-shells and cannon-balls 
thrown into Keil by the besieging armies. We would 
barricade the low narrow streets, where live the low and 
hungry people, with loaves of bread. We would throw up a 
breast-work, clear around the market-place, of barrels of 
flour, pork, and beef; and in the middle, we w r ould raise a 
stack of salmon and codfish as large as a small Methodist 
meeting-house, with a steeple to it, and a bell in the steeple ; 
and the bell should ring to all the city bells ; and the city 
bells should ring to all the people to come to market and 
buy provisions, “without money and without price.” And 
white flags should every wdiere wave in the breeze, on the 
vanes of steeples, on mast-heads, on flag-staves along the 
embattled walls, on the ends of willow sticks borne by the 
romping, laughing, trooping children. All the blood- 
coloured drapery of war should bow and blush before the 
stainless standard of Peace, and generations of Anglo- 
Saxons should remember, with mutual felicitations, The 
Conquest of the White Flag ; or, The Storming of 
Quebec. 


56 


WINE-DRINKING ADVOCATES OF TEMPERANCE. 


WINE-DRINKING ADVOCATES OF TEMPERANCE. 

We need no new evidence to prove, that our moderate 
wine-drinking citizens are the most formidable enemies that 
retain the field against the progress of temperance. We 
know that they are strong, very strong: that they occupy 
the highest walks of life, and fill almost every station of 
honour, trust, and emolument. We know they number in 
their ranks the learned, the wise, and powerful. We cannot 
employ towards them any other language than that of re¬ 
spectable entreaty and expostulation ; nor would we do it 
if we could. No; we would say to our fashionable wine¬ 
drinking citizens, “ Come, let us reason together.” To you, 
gentlemen, we must address our appeal ; for we recognise 
no other opponents in the field. The unreformed inebriate, 
the rum manufacturer, the rum-seller and importer, are 
mere supernumeraries in your camp ; they wear no arms ; 
they are under your protection, and subsist on your example 
and support. Gentlemen, we are your fellow-citizens. In 
many of the duties and avocations of life we walk side by 
side ; in many of the interests of our community and country 
we take sweet counsel together. We can testify to the 
integrity of your honour, to the respectability of your 
standing, the cordiality of your friendship, and the muni¬ 
ficence of your philanthropy. And we appeal to these 
bright qualities of the heart when we say, that there are 
thousands of unfortunate beings who are trying in vain to 
reform on your principle. At the corners of the streets you 
may meet scores of poor inebriates who have tried to become 
temperate men by following your example; but it has 
plunged men deeper in the mire. These side-walks are 
daily thronged with those who are trying to arise from 
habitual intoxication to the moderate use of the intoxicating 
cup. Alas ! is it your example that is hanging out this 
tantalizing phantom? Will you cheat their souls with 
the insidious delusion, that they may again be moderate 
drinkers ? Will you bind, with wanton hands, another 
stone to the willing neck of a Sisyphus, to drag him back 
into the fiery abyss, at each successive attempt to rise from 
its torments ? Will you torture a Tantalus with visions of 
the cooling waters of life, w r ith which he may never slake 
his burning lips ? Shall that father who has almost strength 


AN HOUR AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 57 

enough to face the tempter ; shall that husband who has 
just recommenced an existence of life and love; shall that 
son and brother who has just been rescued from the lee- 
shore of intemperance—shall these be dashed back into 
their original ruin by a glance at the wine that sparkles on 
. jpur tables 1 When the shipwrecked mariner has clung to 
his frail plank through all the wilderness of the wintry 
waves, and when he is in sight of the haven of rest, will 
you hang out false beacon-lights, to lure him on to breakers, 
whence his mangled corse shall be dashed on the shore ? 
When, with a desperate effort, he has caught hold of the 
ark of 1 safety, will you strike off his hand and leave him to 
sink in the waves 1 


AN HOUR AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

TO EZEKIEL HUMPHREY, JUNIOR. 

Dear Ezekiel —If I felt any reluctance at leaving Wor¬ 
cester the other day, it was not because I was starting on 
my western trip with the thermometer ten degrees below 
zero, and with a prospect of its running down still lower— 
but because I could not take you along with me, and enjoy 
on the way the entertainment of our Noctes Nivosa3. If 
you had been with me to-day, while passing over the 
Western Railroad to this place, we should have had matter 
to talk about one snowy night, I assure you. I know not 
what these steam-engines may yet be led to do with this 
globe of ours ; they have already “ done up” time and 
distance, and their doings in these cold Berkshire moun¬ 
tains, indicate that neither heights nor depths will long 
withstand their giant powers of locomotion. No one knows 
but that the child is born that will see travellers ascending 
Mount Blanc on a spiral railroad, reaching from the base to 
the highest peak, and at the rate of ten miles an hour. 
Such a thing will depend entirely upon the value of the 
stock, and not upon the height of the mountain. 

I love to see one of these huge creatures, with sinews of 
brass and muscles of iron, strut forth from his smoky stable, 
and, saluting the long train of cars with a dozen sonorous 
puffs from his iron nostrils, fall back gently into his harness. 
There he stands, champing and foaming upon the iron track, 

D 3 



58 AN HOUR AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

his great heart a furnace of glowing coals; his lymphatic 
blood is boiling in his veins ; the strength of a thousand 
horses is nerving his sinews ; he pants to be gone. He 
would “ snake” St. Peter’s across the desert of Sahara, if he 
could be fairly hitched to it; but there is a little sober¬ 
eyed, tobacco-chewing man in the saddle, who holds him in 
with one finger, and can take away his breath in a moment, 
should he grow restive or vicious. I am always deeply 
interested in this man, for, begrimmed as he may be with 
coal diluted in oil and steam, I regard him as the genius 
of the whole machinery, as the physical mind of that huge 
steam horse. 

A passage through (you can hardly say over), these 
mountains is more interesting in the dead of winter than 
at any other season of the year. “ The precipices huge,” if 
not entirely “smoothed up with snow,” are so hung with 
that frosty drapery, and their pendant rocks studded with 
such fantastic statuary of ice glancing in the sun, that you 
can fancy yourself dashing through a Giant’s Causeway of 
porcelain, where old winter is keeping Christmas beneath the 
icy arches of his temple. After crossing the Connecticut, 
you pass over the beautiful valley of that and the Westfield 
river, a distance of twelve or fifteen miles. The snow-covered 
mountains loom up before you, and seem “walled up to 
heaven,” with no gateway through their successive barriers. 
Presently there is a long shadow darkening on the snow : 
and at the first glance through the window at your side, 
you see a crest of stinted cedars half way in the clouds. 
While you are drawing some comparison between them and 
the curly locks half shading some majestic forehead, and 
decyphering other features of the human face divine in the 
round, swelling brow of the mountain, the sound of the 
hundred iron wheels loses the iron clatter, and changes into 
a suppressed thunder. In a moment, the mountain, with 
its great forehead and cedar locks, and the other features 
your imagination had almost completed, is gone, and a long, 
perpendicular wall of solid rock, hacked, chiselled, drilled, 
and bleak, runs up, almost within arm’s length, to the 
height of sixty feet. The proximity of this immovable 
wall seems to quicken the speed of your steam-chariot; 
the big engine now feels its load ; like a panting giant, it 
breathes shorter and louder as it thunders through the 

<T> 

rocky defile. Columns of smoke fill up the pass and climb 


AN HOUR AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 59 

the icy hutments into the clear, frosty air. The scene 
changes in a moment; you have dashed out into the broad 
daylight, and there you are ; winding around the edge of a 
precipice deep as the foundation of the seated hills. Over 
this chasm you seem to be riding on an atmospheric rail¬ 
road, for the axles of the engine-wheels reach across the 
narrow bridge of terra firma that lifts you half way to the 
level of some mountain top. The frosted rocks adown the 
deep abyss look into the sunlight as if washed with silver, 
and the bright blue stream that comes leaping down its 
mountain channel, is like a rivulet of liquid pearl, whose 
coral banks are studded with diamonds. But it is the 
vision of a dream; the next moment the sun is darkened, 
the silvery scene with all its sudden enchantment has 
vanished ; you are in another damp, dark, “ deep cut 
the indignant engine is again dashing into a mountain rift, 
and, with a firm, unwavering step, whose strength you can 
feel, is mounting towards the summit at the grade of eighty 
feet to a mile. 

I know not how nature may yet be subjugated by steam 
and this mighty machinery; but I am confident that the 
mastery of these Berkshire AIjds by the Western Railroad, 
will be esteemed, for ages to come, the chef-dC oeuvre of New 
England enterprise. No one but a New Englander, I am 
sure, could have conceived the possibility of surmounting 
these rocks, chasms, and wintry heights, and levelling them, 
practically, with the banks of the Connecticut. If southern 
tourists would see the omnipotent energy of free labour, 
let them make the passage of these mountains. While the 
engine, with strong, unwavering step, is mounting with its 
long splendid train of cars, from height to height, let them 
cast their eyes up those high walls which rewarded toil has 
hewn out of .the eternal rocks. There, those adamantine 
butments will stand till the mountains melt, and at the 
end of time will bear the marks of the Irishman’s drill, his 
bar, and pick-axe ; but no slave mark, no ! no ! Thanks 
be to God, when the angel shall stand with one foot on the 
sea and the other on the land, and swear “ that time shall 
be no more,” he will not find a hand-print nor a foot-print 
of a slave, nor any Cain mark hieroglyphic of Slavery along 
our rock-bound coast, or on any inch of New England 
soil! 


60 


THE CONSERVATISM OF PROGRESS. 


THE CONSERVATISM OF PROGRESS. 

The progress of truth depends upon no French Revolu¬ 
tion in the empire of thought. Through the whole universe 
of matter and of mind, a conservative principle prescribes 
the terms of progression. The past is perpetuated in the 
present, and the present projects into the future, making 
one continuous continent of time, in which no yawning 
chasm, no breaking gulf, intervenes to separate one age 
from another, and break the continuity of human expe¬ 
rience. Thus there never was, there never will be, a time 
when an entire generation have been or shall be all chil¬ 
dren or all old men ; or when an entire generation shall 
die and another be born consentaneously. There never was 
a period in the history of mankind, when the cool, con¬ 
servative deliberation of age did not blend with the sturdy 
vigour of manhood, and the impetuous vivacity of youth. 
Infancy, youth, manhood and old age have ever trans¬ 
mitted the race entire through the successive periods of its 
progression. 

In the earlier ages, human life was prolonged apparently 
for the express design to compensate the first generations 
of men for their want of the experience of an antiquity. 
Had not the antediluvian patriarchs been allowed centuries 
of personal experience and observation, the disparity be¬ 
tween their situation and ours would have been more 
immense in our favour. It required nearly a thousand 
years of continuous observation to place Methusaleh in a 
relative approximation to the child of ten years now study¬ 
ing Peter Parley’s Geography and Astronomy in one of our 
district schools. That child, in comprehending a few con¬ 
densed ideas of philosophy, has appropriated to himself five 
thousand years of living, breathing and speaking antiquity. 

If then, the mere perpetuation of the species is based 
upon this conservative principle, which makes one genera¬ 
tion run over into another, upon what other basis may we 
predict any progression in truth or science ? But it would 
be a dangerous error to conceive that this conservative 
principle confined us to a rigid adhesion to the opinions of 
the past. This position would render abortive the whole 
series of progression. It would break up the conservative 
principle, and identify the present and future with the 


THE CONSERVATISM OF PROGRESS. 61 

past, and make all time, both prospective and retrospective, 
one unbroken continuity of antiquity. Then is it any 
irreverence to past opinions, on any subject, if we adopt 
them in a modified form ; if we divest them of a few 
excrescences of error ; if, in a word, we rectify them to the 
present latitude and altitude of the human mind ? 

Let me assume that I am travelling over an extensive 
plain ten miles in width. As my eyes roam along the 
horizon, I detect something resembling, it may be, a string 
letdown from the sky. From an instantaneous deduction 
of experience, I infer that it is the spire of some distant 
church, although I can see no building, belfry, clock, ball, 
or vane. Leaning against a mile-stone, I pencil down a 
description of the distant spire, as it appears to me at that 
point of observation. I may say that its apparent diameter 
at the base is six inches, and that at the height of twelve 
feet it seems to terminate in a point. I may say that it is 
jet black, and specify other particulars of its appearance. 
1 go on to the next mile-stone, and there another object 
meets my eyes in the horizon. I am certain that I see a 
spire in the same direction as the first. But this one is 
essentially different. It runs up further into the sky ; it 
is larger at the base. I detect a lack of uniformity in its 
dimensions occasioned by the belfry. I carefully write 
down, on another piece of paper, all the phases of this 
apparently new object. I then resume my walk, with my 
eyes fixed on the ground, till I reach the next mile-stone ; 
when, upon looking ahead, I see another spire, taller and 
better defined than the other. It presents new features, 
new dimensions, all of which I carefully enter upon another 
piece of paper. Thus I go on from one mile-stone to 
another, noting down at each, new observations of an object 
which I believed at first was a steeple. Approaching this 
ever-changing object, at one point I recognise the belfry, 
at another the vane. I at last stand under the droppings 
of the Sanctuary. I pass around it. The design, character 
and connexion, of the steeple are all developed to my 
view. I find that my former observations embraced only 
the primary phases or elements of a fact now fully deve¬ 
loped. I find the steeple to be a mere constituent element 
instead of the interger of a fact, and that it was made for 
the Sanctuary, of which it constitutes a subordinate part. 
I have now to begin with a description of the main edifice 


G2 THE CONSERVATISM OF PROGRESS. 

itself. I write down its dimensions, its order of architec¬ 
ture, its Doric or Corinthian columns, its doors, aisles, pews, 
pulpit, arches and orchestra. I finish with a description 
of the steeple, which is perfectly white. I say that it is a 
hundred feet in height ; that what I at first conceived its 
base is its centre ; that it is studded all the way up to the 
belfry with balustrades and turrets ; that thence it runs in 
a single octagonal shaft to the ball; thence tapers into an 
iron spire supporting a gilded vane, and terminating in a 
brazen star. 

I now put my ten different descriptions of the same 
object into the hands of one living five miles distant from 
the meeting-house, and who has never approached it any 
nearer than his residence. He reads these detached and 
entirely different descriptions. What evidence has he that 
I am not describing ten entirely different objects ? What 
specific features of resemblance can he find between these 
observations, to attach them to a single fact ? He detects 
the conservative principle in the solitary fact, that I saw 
the objects in precisely the same direction or line of pro¬ 
gression. He knows, by his own experience, that the 
difference in my successive observations of that steepled 
church is common and true to the aspect of every distant 
object that we approach. Will he charge me with “ break¬ 
ing away from received opinions/’ with violating the con¬ 
servative principle of progression, because my descriptions 
do not correspond with each other ? Will he tell me he 
cannot reconcile my last statements with my first, and that 
I have been guilty of radical innovation ; of stretching the 
truth at one point of observation, and suppressing it at 
another ? Will he accuse me of being short-sighted, nar¬ 
row-minded, bigoted, and careless, because, when I was at 
the first mile-stone, I did not see and describe minutely 
that church and steeple ; that I did not give all its dimen¬ 
sions and pourtray all its features 'l Will he charge me with 
a reckless disregard of my first description, because, while 
standing within that Sanctuary, I sketch its Gothic windows 
and arches, its stained glass, sculpture and carved cornices ? 
I am sure he would not. I should have his and the testi¬ 
mony of every other reasonable man, that I did not “ break 
away from received opinions but that a palpable con¬ 
tinuity of truth runs through and connects my different 
observations and statements of a single fact. 


THE CONSERVATISM OF PROGRESS. 


63 


We have introduced this illustration here, and at the 
present time, in order to anticipate some imputation to 
which we may be subjected hereafter in giving our views 
on subjects of deep and solemn interest to humanity. We 
may venture to give occasionally other phase s of great facts, 
as yet undeveloped in our destiny as beings who have 
entered upon an endless series of progression, of which this 
physical existence may be but one of the terms in its 
ascending gradations. The Temple of Truth lifts its lofty 
dome high above the highest pinnacle of the universe. Its 
Almighty Founder has built hi3 Throne thereon, and 
beckons men and angels up to its temple gates. Every 
being lessening down from Infinite Perfection, who loves 
the truth, is on the road, reaching steadily forward toward 
the goal. Gabriel himself—perhaps with a minor seraph 
by the hand—is leading the course. Like the feeble, un¬ 
weaned spirits on the earth, he, too, at every degree in his 
upward gradations, sees new developments, new phases of 
beauty, glory and grandeur in the eternal Temple of Truth, 
the Pavilion of the Almighty. And were he to write for 
our instruction his impressions of that august structure at 
the successive points of his approximation, he, too, might 
incur the charge of “ breaking away from received opi¬ 
nions for his note-book might contain all that variety of 
observation which characterised my different descriptions 
of that steepled church which I saw across the plain. 

The untravelled residue of the plain of time and the 
whole expanse of eternity, lies between us and that great 
Temple of Truth, which we may ever approach but never 
reach. In this sublime race-course, our predecessors are 
before us, not behind us. Let us decipher and follow their 
footsteps ; for they are the footsteps of angels, of the spirits 
of the just made perfect and disembodied in order to facili¬ 
tate their progress and that of others toiling and travelling 
on in “ this muddy vesture of decay.” The heavenly; 
admonition is that we keep our eye steadily on the goal, 
though that *oal develop a new aspect at every step. 


G4 


THE INVENTIVE GENIUS OF LABOUR. 


THE INVENTIVE GENIUS OF LABOUR. 

The Physical necessity of mental activity, in every 
practical sense, confers upon the mind the power to deter¬ 
mine our stature, strength, and longevity, to multiply our 
organs of sense, and increase their capacity, in some cases, 
to 30,000,000 times their natural power. This capacity of 
the mind is not a mere prospective possibility; it is a fact, 
a tried, practical fact; and the human mind is more busy 
than ever in extending this prerogative. 

Let us look in upon man while engaged in the very act 
of adding to his natural strength these gigantic faculties. 
See him yonder, bending over his stone mortar and pounding 
and thumping, and sweating, to pulverize his flinty grain 
into a more esculent form. He stops and looks a moment 
into the precipitous torrent thundering down its rocky 
channel. There ! a thought has struck him. He begins 
to whistle ; he whistles some, for he learned to whistle soon 
after he learned to breathe. He gears together, some hori¬ 
zontally, and others perpendicularly, a score of little wooden 
wheels. lie set them a-going, and claps his hands in triumph 
to see what they would do, if a thousand times larger. 

Look at him again. How proudly he stands, with folded 
arms, looking at the huge things that are working for him ! 
He has made that wild raging torrent as tame as his horse. 
He has taught it to walk backward and forward, lie has 
given it hands, and put the crank of his big wheel into 
them, and made it turn his ponderous grindstone. What 
a taskmaster ! 

Look at him again ! He is standing on the ocean beach, 
watching the crested billows as they move in martial squa¬ 
drons over the deep. He has conceived or heard that richer 
productions, more delicious fruits and flowers, may be found 
on yonder invisible shore. In an instant, his mind sympa¬ 
thises with the yearnings of his physical nature. See ! there 
is a new thought in his eye. He remembers how he first 
saddled the horse : he now bits and saddles the mountain 
wave. Not satisfied with dompting this proud element, he 
breaks another into his service. Remembering his mill- 
dam, he constructs a floating dam of canvass in the air, to 
harness the winds to his ocean-waggon. Thus, with his 
wate^-liorse and air-horse harnessed in tandem, he drives 


TIIE INVENTIVE GENIUS OF LABOUR. 


65 


across the wilderness of waters with a team that would 
make old Neptune hide his diminished head for envy, and 
sink his clumsy chariot beneath the waves. 

See now ! he wants something else ; his appetite for some¬ 
thing better than he has, grows by what he feeds on. The 
fact is, he has plodded about in his one-horse waggon till 
he is disgusted with his poor capacity of locomotion. The 
wings of Mercury, modern eagles, and paper kites, are all 
too impracticable for models. He settles down upon the 
persuasion that he can make a great Iron Horse, with 
bones of steel and muscles of brass, that will run against 
time with Mercury, or any other winged messenger of Jove— 
the daring man ! He brings out his huge leviathan hexaped 
upon the track. How the giant creature struts forth from 
his stable panting to be gone ! His great heart is a furnace 
of glowing coals ; his lymphatic blood is boiling in his 
veins; the strength of a thousand horses is nerving his iron 
sinews. But his master reins him in with one finger, till 
the whole of some western village, men, women, children, 
and half their horned cattle, sheep, poultry, wheat, cheese, 
and potatoes, have been stowed away in that long train of 
waggons he has harnessed to his foaming steam-horse. And 
now he shouts interrogatively, all right ? and applying a 
burning goad to the huge creature, away it thunders over 
the iron road, breathing forth fire and smoke in its indig¬ 
nant haste to outstrip the wind. More terrible than the 
war-horse in Scripture, clothed with louder thunder, and 
emitting a cloud of flame and burning coals from his iron 
nostrils, he dashes on through dark mountain passes, over 
jutting precipices, and deep ravines. His tread shakes the 
earth like a travelling Niagara, and the sound of his chariot 
wheels warns the people of distant towns that he is coming ; 
coming wdiither ! to Boston, of course. 

These are a few of the faculties which the human mind 
has invented to increase our physical capacity, and improve 
our physical condition. And they are the personal property 
of every individual, and ever ready and able to put him 
into communication with all the comforts and convenience 
they can procure. The steam-engine, the packet-ship, are 
my own personal faculties, as much, yea, more than they 
would be, if they were an inseparable part of my being. 
They are far more available to me, than if my feet were 
# welded on to each of them. • Therefore, all these artificial 


66 


THE INVENTIVE GENIUS OF LABOUR. 


faculties, every invention and implement to give a new 
capacity to labour ; every inch of progress in the arts and 
sciences ; every degree of intellectual development that has 
been made since the birth of humanity, have all been the 
result of that impulse of perpetual activity which the 
yearning necessities of man’s physical nature have commu¬ 
nicated to his mind. To ameliorate our physical condition, 
has been the inspiring object of every intellectual attain¬ 
ment. It has led to the discovery of every principle of 
natural philosophy and science; it has inspired every 
conception of taste, prompted every act of patriotism 
and Christian philanthropy. It was not to indulge a few 
mere intellectual abstractions, that the ancient shepherds 
and sailors clambered up into the blue heavens, and con¬ 
stellated the stars ; they wanted them for guide-boards to 
guide them by night over the vast plains of the East, and 
the uncharted waters of the ocean. If Phydias and Praxi¬ 
teles were only bent on a mere diversion of the imagination, 
neither of them needed to have touched a chisel. The man 
who created the Apollo Belvidere, looked into the mountain 
side, and saw the silver-bowed deity invested in all his God¬ 
like attributes in the unquarried marble. But he could 
not bear to see him hampered there in his lapideous shroud 
before his mind’s eye ; he seized his chisel, and with indig¬ 
nant strokes he tore away the ceremental marble, and let 
out the God before his body’s eye, to be worshipped by 
millions who, if they dared, might even touch his marble 
flesh. All the beautiful orders of architecture and creations 
of the pencil; all the conceptions of the beautiful in na¬ 
ture and art and humanity, are inventions extorted, as it 
were, from the mind, to extend and increase the pleasures 
of sense. All the institutions of human government the 
principles of political economy, the aspirations of patriotism, 
and the efforts of philanthropy, have been called forth by 
the necessities of our physical nature, which Divine Wisdom 
ordained should never be supplied without the busy occu¬ 
pation of the mind. 


THE LAST HOUR OF THE LEAGUE. 


67 


THE LAST HOUR OF THE LEAGUE. 

(First 'published in Douglas Jerr old's Weekly Newspaper.) 

During my voyage, I could not but deem it tbe most 
felicitous coincidence of my life, that I was permitted to 
cross the ocean in the same ship that had brought to 
America, and was then carrying back to Old England, such 
tidings of peace and good will to both. But on my arrival 
in Manchester, I found that there was in reserve for me a 
pleasure well worth a voyage around the world to experience. 
I had scarcely exchanged greetings with my friends here, 
when I was informed that the Last Meeting of the League 
was about to be convened in the Town Hall; and I was 
invited to witness a scene, the like of which has never been 
recorded in the annals of human history. I went with 
emotions of interest I cannot describe. The room was 
but partially filled when we entered. As I looked at the 
groups of individuals engaged in earnest conversation, I 
perceived in every face and in every tone, the sentiment 
of some unusual occasion. The gratulations and greetings 
were earnest and warm, but softened, I fancied, by emotions 
felt and understood by all. There was an April morning 
in the July sunshine of that hour of joy. Every heart 
seemed busy with affecting associations and memories of 
the past. The long struggle was over. The mightiest 
enemy of the British people had been oveicome. There 
was nothing left for the League to conquer in its organized 
capacity. Having prostrated a policy that fettered the 
commerce of the world, and muzzled the mouth of labour 
in every field of toil, it was to die, in the midst of its 
strength, in the very hour of triumph. Like Alexander, 
it had conquered a world ; but, unlike him, it saw other 
worlds to conquer, and possessed the strength to conquer 
them. But it had reached the boundary line which it had 
drawn to its victories, and there it was now to disband. A 
few moments more, and the curtain was to open and close 
upon one of the most remarkable scenes that ever transpired 
in the civilized world. No one could have remained 
unmoved by the pensive sympathies that pervaded the 
assembly. At the reporters’ table, reaching nearly across 
the hall, in front of the forum, were seated a score of men 


G8 


THE LAST HOUR OF THE LEAGUE. 


from different parts of the kingdom, preparing their pens 
and paper to give a vocal ubiquity to the lightest word 
that should be uttered in that consummation-hour by the 
Leaders of the League. There were The Times' reporters 
from London with the harnessed lightnings waiting to bear 
to the metropolis the quick cross-marks of their phonogra¬ 
phic pens. The atmosphere, even, seemed waiting for the 
message of that hour. The seats on the speakers’ platform 
were now fast filling up with men distinguished in the 
councils of the association. Few places remained to be 
occupied ; and these were evidently reserved for those 
whose names were to be held in grateful remembrance 
among all nations. 

A general outburst of cheers now greeted the entrance 
of some one. Men on the platform arose from their seats 
to make way for him, and the next moment the President 
of the League took the chair, in the midst of enthusiastic 
and long-continued cheering. Scarcely had this demon¬ 
stration of feeling subsided, when the hall shook again with 
acclamations of welcome, which grew louder and louder 
into a tempest of enthusiasm, as one of the meekest-looking 
of men, with a face transparent with the reflection of serious 
thoughtfulness, made his way modestly and even timidly to 
a seat on the right of the chairman. He raised his clear, 
earnest, thoughtful eyes, and looked around the assembly ; 
and the cheers rose again, and I saw old merchants bow 
their heads to keep their tears out of sight. The pathos 
of the moment was indescribably affecting, and eloquent 
with emotions of years of ordinary life. Richard Cobden 
stood before us, and this was the hour of his triumph ! 

Again the house resounded with rounds of acclamation, 
which greeted to the platform the eloquent associate of 
Cobden ; and John Bright, full of the robust ardour of 
young manhood, in his carriage, in his voice, and in his 
eye, sat down on the left of the chair. 

The men and the moment had come ; and the curtain 
t was lifted upon the last act of the scene. The President 
of the League arose. He had risen a thousand times before 
in its councils, in times of doubt, trial, and toil, to speak of 
the brave realities of the hopeful future. That future had 
come, with its bosom full of the substance of things hoped 
for, and laboured for, through years of enduring faith; and 
he stood up before the League with the past and present 


THE LAST nOUR OF THE LEAGUE. 


69 


alone in his hand and heart. He had risen to perform 
the last act of his office ; to commit the “ great fact” of the 
League, with all the ages and attributes of its existence, to 
the pages of history, to live among the immortal relics of 
the past. He opened, with deep emotion, at the first 
chapter of that existence. It read like the first chapter of 
every great moral reformation that has changed the con¬ 
dition of the world. It began substantially with “ they met 
together in a little upper room” Every enterprise that has 
blessed humanity has originated in some “ little upper 
room where men who dared to make themselves of no 
reputation for the good of their race, have met to pray or 
to plan. It is always in this little upper room department 
of a reform, that the faith of the few becomes a great fact, 
and the little one a thousand. And it was from this little 
upper room that the President of the League conducted us 
through all the epochs of its eventful history. A few 
Sibylline leaves, impressed with the faith of the few, and the 
reasons of their hope, were scattered along the footpaths of 
the people, and the people read them gladly* “ Little upper 
rooms’ 7 became too small for the multitudes that assembled 
to hear more of this matter. The League gradually ex¬ 
panded to the compass of the kingdom, and large halls were 
erected, and associations formed, for the discussion and 
dissemination of its principles. Every house was visited, 
and all the highways of society were strewn with tracts and 
other speaking missiles to the popular mind. The orators 
of the League went from people to parliament, and from 
Parliament to people, and the forums of both trembled 
with their eloquence. The press voiced their burning 
words of truth to millions of earnest readers, till the argu¬ 
ments of Cobden and Bright came home, trumpet-tongucd, 
to the’r convictions. In the thickest of the great moral 
contest, Providence had co-operated with the contenders 
for the right, and made Hunger its prime minister of mercy 
to the people; and a cry went up for bread that broke 
throuo'h the stone walls of man’s obdurate heart, and 
decided the victory. Monopoly, the world’s Giant of 
Despair and Doubting Castle, had been laid low in the 
dust, and its famished prisoners set free on the high road 
to peace and plenty. The President turned to the Great- 
heart of the League, and sat down. 

Cobden arose; not to speak for the space of several 


70 


THE LAST HOUR OP THE LEAGUE. 


minutes, but to stand up in affecting silence before tbe 
assembly, who would have drowned the voice of a trumpet 
with the swelling peals of applause with which they greeted 
the soft-voiced revolutionist of a new age. Several times he 
attempted to speak, but before he could frame the utterance 
of a w r ord, the multitude would burst forth anew in another 
round of cheers. It was touching to see him turn first this 
way and then that towards the people, and move his lips in 
the vain attempt to put out a word upon the torrent of 
grateful acclamation. I saw his clear, spirit-speaking eyes 
fill with tears, on being thus interrupted, for the third time, 
in his efforts to make himself heard. There he stood, the 
meekest-looking man I ever saw fronting a public assembly. 
With his slight form gently inclining forward,—one of his 
thin, pale hands depending by the forefinger from a button¬ 
hole in the left breast of his coat, and with the other leaning, 
as if for support, on one corner of the speaker’s desk, he 
reminded me of a humble member of the Methodist Church 
in America, arising, for the first time, in one of their class 
meetings , to “ tell his experience” with a contrite spirit. 
The first words he uttered fell upon the listening assembly 
in tones of querulous modulation. They were uttered in 
child-like simplicity, and were tremulous with the emotion 
he confessed. He adverted, in a touching manner, to the 
fact, that they were assembled to disband their association 
at the moment of its triumph. He spoke of the unanimity 
that had pervaded its counsels, from the earliest period of 
its existence to the present happy consummation of its 
destiny. The pressure of the opposition they had encoun¬ 
tered, and of the obstacles that had surrounded them, had 
rendered their union more compact. Now that this oppo¬ 
sition and these obstacles had been overcome, it might be 
safer to dissolve in the spirit of union, than to retain their 
organization, in the full force of its executive agencies, after 
the cause and necessity of its existence had been removed. 
He addressed a word of comfort to an emotion that per¬ 
vaded the assembly, by saying that the best part of the 
League would not die in its dissolution. Its spirit would 
live and pervade the earth. Disembodied from the League, 
it would seek voluntary forms of existence, which would 
fill all the avenues of practical philanthropy, and work on 
for the people’s good. In the most delicate manner, he 
softened down the eminence to which his fellow-countrymen 


THE LAST HOUR OF THE LEAGUE. 71 

would raise him, by reminding them of the exertions of the 
earliest pioneers in the cause—men who had entered the 
field before him, and, with untiring assiduity and zeal, 
had cleared away its tangled thickets of difficulty and 
obstruction, leaving a free course for their successors. It 
was beautiful, and showed the true greatness of the man. 
He commended to the gratitude of those so grateful and 
generous to him, the upper room few, and the first acts of 
their heroic faith ; the men who strewed the by-roads of 
the people with tracts and the priceless foliage of truthful 
thoughts. He scattered the laurels wreathed for his brow 
in every direction, out of apparent love to see them worn 
by others, whom the people might forget in concentrating 
their admiration on him. "VV ith a graceful simplicity he 
twined a wreath around the brow of England’s young 
Queen, and paid a delicate tribute to the wish in her heart, 
that the poor people of her kingdom might have cheap 
bread. What a lesson might Alexander, Caesar, or Bona¬ 
parte, have learned, had they been there to hear Cobden, 
in the singleness of his heart, commending his rivals in 
reputation to the admiration of his admirers ! He would 
not have Sir Robert Peel forgotten in an hour when the 
measures and the men that had effected the triumphs of 
their cause were passing in review. He adverted in earnest 
terms—as if the assembly had forgotten them—to the 
sacrifices and labours of the premier in advocating, and 
carrying through all opposition, the measure for which 
they had struggled during so many years. Having begun 
by ascribing to an overruling Providence the combination 
of influences that had brought about the consummation of 
their hopes, he concluded by ascribing the whole good and 
glory of the event to the same Divine interposition. He 
sat down apparently satisfied that he had reduced his 
eminence to the level of his associates and co-labourers of 
the League. 

John Bright next arose, and was received with en¬ 
thusiastic applause. Par nobile fratrum, he and Cobden 
had laboured shoulder to shoulder through all the hard 
campaigns of the great moral revolution. In personal 
appearance, no two men, with only the disparity of ten 
years between them, could be more unlike each other. By 
constitution of mind and temperament of genius, no two 
could have been more happily associated in such a reform. 


72 


ALL MORTGAGED. 


Tlie eloquence of Bright would seem born to command, that 
of Gobden to win conviction. If the first was the eloquence 
of logic set on fire by spontaneous combustion, the latter 
was the eloquence of earnest truth, whose passage through 
the mind, like the path of the just, grows brighter and 
brighter unto the perfect day. I regret that I have not 
room to notice more at length the last speech of Bright 
before the League. He dwelt most impressively on the 
fact, that the greatest enemy with which the British people 
ever had to contend, had been overcome by the resistless 
might of moral means. These were weapons which no 
physical power of despotism could withstand. With these, 
the people could never fail to be victorious in their struggles 
for right and true freedom. Sublime sentiment! magni¬ 
ficent position ! In this principle, the down-trodden tribes 
of men may find both an Archimedean lever and point of 
rest, by which they may lift from the bosom of humanity the 
largest world of wrong which the darkness and despotism 
of ages can accumulate. This principle, as the only power 
on earth by which the people can work out the condition 
of freedom, peace, and prosperity, spans the heavens of the 
race, as the revelation of a new rainbow of promise, that 
“ the nations shall learn war no more,” for any political 
change, and that the revolutions which are to turn and 
overturn dynasties rooted in the antiquity of a thousand 
years, shall leave no stain of blood nor trace of hate upon 
the fair bosom of the earth. 


ALL MORTGAGED. 

To one born and bred in New England, the sentiment 
must be inevitable, that it is a “ free country.” The lan¬ 
guage of every-day life teems with that capital idea. It is 
the first idea that infancy is taught, and the last one for¬ 
gotten by old age. Freedom, Liberty, Free Institutions, 
Free Soil, &c., are terms of costly water in the jewellery of 
our patriotism. 

How pleasant it is to think—be it true or false—that 
cold, hard-soiled, pure-skyed New England is, indeed, a 
free land ! that in her long struggle for freedom, she ex¬ 
punged from her soil every crimson spot, every lineament 



ALL MORTGAGED. 


73 


of human slavery, and severed every ligament that con¬ 
nected her with that inhuman institution! And so we 
thought. We got out of our cradle with that idea. It was 
in our heart when we first looked up at the blue sky, and 
listened to the little merry birds that were swimming in 
its bosom. It was in our heart like thoughts of music, 
when the spring winds came, and the spring voices twit¬ 
tered in the tree tops; when the swallow and the lark and 
all the summer birds sang for joy, and the meadow stream 
chimed in its silvery treble, deftly singing to the daisies. 
When every thing was alive with the rapture of freedom, 
we thought, among other bright and boyish vagaries, 
that this land was free—free as the air; otherwise we 
would never have slid down hill on it, or rolled up a snow 
fort, or have done any thing of the kind by way of sport. 
And we were told that it was free. Old men who wore 
queues, and hobbled about on crutches, came and sat by 
our father’s fire-side, and showed great scars on their flesh, 
and told how r much it had cost to make the land free. And 
on a hot summer day of every year, the people stuck up a 
long pole in the middle of the village green ; and they tied 
to the top a large piece of striped cloth ; and they rung the 
bell in the steeple ; and they shot off a hollow log of cast- 
iron ; and the hills and woods trembled at the noise, and 
father said and everybody said, it was because this land 
was free. It was our boyhood’s thought, and of all our 
young fancies, we loved it best; for there was an element 
of religion in it. We have clung fondly to the patriotic 
illusion, and should have hugged it to our bosom through 
life, but for an incident that suddenly broke up the dream. 

While meditating one Sabbath evening, a few weeks ago, 
upon the blessings of this free, gospel land, and on the 
liberty wherewith God here sets his children free, a neigh¬ 
bour opened the door and whispered cautiously in our ear, 
that a young sable fugitive from slavery had knocked at 
his door, and he had given him a place by his fire. “ A 
slave in New England !” exclaimed we, as we took down 
our hat; “ is it possible that slaves can breathe here and 
not be free V* 

There were many of us that gathered around that young 
man, and few of us all had ever seen a slave. There were 
mothers in the group that had sons of the same age as tha 
of the boy; and tears came into their eyes when he spoke 

E 


74 


ALL MORTGAGED. 


of liis widowed slave mother ; and there were young sisters, 
with Sunday-School books in their hands that surrounded 
him, and looked in his face with strange and tearful 
earnestness, as he spoke of the sister he had left in 
bondage. He had been “ hunted like a partridge upon 
the mountains,” and his voice trembled as he spoke. His 
pursuers had tracked him from one place to another ; they 
were even now hard at his heels; his feet were bruised and 
swollen from the chase ; he was faint and weary, and he 
looked around upon us imploringly for protection. Start¬ 
ing at every sound from without, he told, with a tremulous 
voice, the story of his captivity and re-capture ; for thrice 
had he fled from slavery, and twice had he been delivered 
up to his pursuers. He v r as checkered over with the 
marks of the scourge, for his master had prescribed a hun¬ 
dred lashes to cure him of his passion for freedom. A 
worse fate awaited him, if he failed in his third attempt to 
be free ; and he walked to the window and softly asked the 
nearest way to Canada. Canada and heaven, he said, were 
the only two places that the slave sighed for, and he tied 
up his clouted shoes to go. He laid his hand on the latch, 
and his eyes asked if he might go. We knew what was in 
his heart, and he what was in our own, when the children 
came near and asked their parents why the negro boy might 
not live in Massachusetts, and why he should go so far to 
find a home. And we looked in each other’s faces, and said 
not a word, for our hearts were troubled at their questions. 

Some one asked for “ the bond,” and it was read ; and 
there, among great swelling words about liberty, we found 
it written, that there was not an acre or an inch of ground 
within the limits of the great American Republic, which 
was not mortgaged to slavery. And when the reader 
came to that passage in the bond, his voice fell, lest the 
children should hear it, and ask more questions. He passed 
the instrument around, and we saw it written—“ too fairly 
writ”—that there was not a foot of soil in New England— 

cj 

not a spot consecrated to learning, liberty, or religion—not 
a square inch on Bunker hill, or any other hill, nor cleft, 
or crag, or cavern in her mountain sides, nor nook in her 
dells, or lair in her forests, nor a hearth, nor a cabin door 
which did not bear the bloody endorsement in favour of 
slavery. “It was in the bond”—the bond of our Union, 
“ ordained to establish Justice, promote the general wel- 


ALL MORTGAGED. 


fare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and 
our posterity”—it was in that anomalous instrument, that 
the slave-hunter and his hounds might seize upon his 
trembling victim on the holiest spot of this land of the free. 

It was a bright night. The heavens were full of eyes 
looking down upon the earth ; and we wished that they 
were closed for an hour; that the clouds would come over 
the moon; for the man hunters had come. They had 
tracked the young fugitive, and were lying in wait to seize 
him even on the heartli of a free man. We shall never 
forget that hour. We had attired the young slave in a 
female garb, and put his hand within the arm of one of our 
number. A passing cloud obscured the moon, and the two 
issued into the street. Softly and silently we followed 
them at a distance, and our hearts were heavy within us, 
that Massachusetts had no law that could extend protection 
to the young human being, or permit him to be protected 
without law. It was a strange feeling to walk the streets 
of Worcester as if treading on enemies’ ground ; to avoid 
the houses and faces of our neighbours and friends as if 
they were all slaveholders and in pursuit of the fugitive; 
as if here, in the heart of the Old Bay State, there was 
something felonious in that deed of mercy that would 
obliterate the track of the innocent image of God flying for 
life and liberty before his relentless pursuer. We passed 
close by the old Burial Ground, where slumbered many a 
hero of Seventy-Six. There, within a stone’s throw, was 
the grave of Captain Peter Slater, one of the “Indians” 
who threw the taxed tea into Boston harbour. It was a 
moment of humiliation and indignant grief, when passing 
by his monument, we compared the taxes on tea and sugar 
of his day, with that despotic land-tax, that slave-breeding 
incumbrance, that Shylock mortgage, which the founders 
of our Constitution imposed upon every square inch of New 
England in the terms of “ the bond.” 

AYe have now neither time nor space to tell the story of 
that young fugitive. AA r e wish he might tell it himself 
upon every hearth-stone in New England. We wish no 
human heart a needless unpleasant emotion ; but we would 
that every child in this “ land of the free” might see a 
slave,—a being that owns a God, yet owned, and bound, 
and beat, and sold by man. AVe would have the rising 
eeneration well instructed in the terms of “ the bond. 


76 


TIIE BRANDED HAND. 


and a few personal illustrations of the condition which it 
“ secures,” might be of service in defining their path of 
duty. They will soon enter upon this goodly heritage : 
and shall we give it over into their hands encumbered with 
this iniquitous entailment in favour of slavery ? No ! if 
there be 'wealth enough in all New England’s jewels—in 
the cabinet of her great deeds of virtue and patriotism— 
let us lift this bloody mortgage from one square acre of her 
soil, whereon the hunted slave may say, “ I thank my God 
that I too am at last a Man !” When trembling and pant¬ 
ing, he struck his foot on that consecrated spot, then the 
chase should cease, though his master and his dogs were at 
his heels. That English acre in New England should be 
another Canada for the fugitive bondman. He should 
carry a handful of its soil in his bosom as a certificate, 
honoured throughout the world, that he was free. 


THE BRANDED HAND.* 

In the Boston Chronicle , we find an article under the 
above caption which must appeal to every sentiment of 
humanity in the heart of the reader. There is the hand 
of that great-hearted hero, Jonathan Walker, opening 
its branded palm to the reader, into which are burned 
those letters of mighty and immortal significance, S. S. 
“Salvation to the Slave.” Slavery has created a new order of 
knighthood in this heroic age of philanthropy, and its 
burning and bloody badges will open to the wearer a fel¬ 
lowship with the great heart of humanity, and command a 
reverence from the world, which neither the star of the 
Legion of Honour, nor the blazonry of the Garter could 
procure. God has a “ Legion of Honour” in this fallen 
world ; and, as in the day of its institution, it is still made 
up of men who are not afraid to make themselves of no 
reputation, like their Master ; who are not afraid of stripes 
and bruising and branding irons ;—poor men—in rags 
many—but rich, immensely rich in faith in God, and im- 

* Jonathan Walker was tried before a judge in Florida, and convicted 
of having assisted the escape of several slaves from their degrading bond¬ 
age, into the British possessions. For this crime! he was sentenced to 
imprisonment, and to be branded in the hand ‘ ‘S. S.” (slave-stealer). 



77 


AN HOUR WITH NATURE AND TIIE NAILERS. 

mensely mighty in his power : who, from the great, heaven- 
inspired love that is in them, can work like a legion of 
strong angels for man. 

That “Branded Hand!” look at it, ye Belshazzars en¬ 
throned on the necks of three millions of God’s human 
children ! jSTo transient apparition, that ! no mystic, 
vapoury characters of ambiguous meaning has it traced 
upon the crumbling walls of slavery. This thing, which 
ye have done unto the least of his little ones, ye have done 
unto Him who died for the slave. Into His hands, still 
bearing the nail-marks of the cross, have ye burned the 
literal signet of your malignity to man and human free¬ 
dom. That hand ! the subtle daguerreotype has imaged 
it, like a petrified vapour, on these thin, sibyl leaves, to 
endure for a day : but in lines that will deepen and darken 
through eternity, is that branded hand daguerreotyped in 
the chancery of Heaven ; v r here, we ween, it shall be shown 
in pride to every angel that comes to look into the record 
of human actions. 


AN HOUR WITH NATURE AND TIIE NAILERS. 
(First published in Douglas Jerr old's vjeekly Newspaper.) 

Tuesday, July 21st, 1846.—After a quiet easy breakfast, 
served up on a little round table for myself alone, I sat down 
to test the practicability of the plan I had formed at home 
for my peregrinations in this country :— viz., to write until 
one, p.m., then to take my staff and travel on, eight or ten 
miles, to another convenient stopping place for the night. 
As much depended upon the success of the experiment, I 
was determined to carry the point against the predictions 
of my friends. So at it I went, con amove. The house 
was as quiet as if a profound Sabbath was resting upon it, 
and the window's of my airy chamber looked through the 
foliage of grave elms down upon a green valley. I got on 
swimmingly ; and after a frugal dinner at the little round 
table, 1 buckled on my knapsack with a feeling of self- 
gratulation in view of the literary part of my day’s work. 
Halving paid my bill, and given the lady a copy of my corn- 
meal receipts, I resumed my walk towards W r - * 

I v r as suddenly diverted from my contemplation of this 




78 


AN HOUR WITH NATURE 


magnificent scenery, by a fall of heavy rain drops, as the 
prelude of an impending shower. Seeing a gate open, and 
hearing a familiar clicking behind the hedge, I stepped 
through into a little blacksmith’s shop, about as large as 
an American smokehouse for curing bacon. The first object 
that my eyes rested on was a full-grown man, nine years of 
age, and nearly three feet high, perched upon a stone of 
half that height, to raise his breast to the level of his 
father’s anvil, at which he was at work, with all the vigour 
of his little short arms, making nails. I say, a full-grown 
man ; for I fear he can never grow any larger, physically 
or mentally. As I put my hand on his shoulder in a 
familiar way, to make myself at home with him, and to 
remove the timidity with which my sudden appearance 
seemed to inspire him, by a pleasant w r ord or two of greet¬ 
ing, his flesh felt case-hardened into all the induration of 
toiling manhood, and as unsusceptible of growth as his 
anvil block. Fixed manhood had set in upon him in the 
greenness of his youth ; and there he was, by his father’s 
side, a stinted, premature man; with his childhood cut 
off ; with no space to grow in between the cradle and the 
anvil block; chased, as soon as he could stand on his little 
legs, from the hearth-stone to the forge-stone, by iron 
necessity, that would not let him stop long enough to pick 
up a letter of the English alphabet on the way. 0, Lord 
John Russell! think of this. Of this Englishman’s son, 
placed by his mother, scarcely weaned, on a high, cold 
stone, barefooted, before the anvil; there to harden, sear, 
and blister its young hands by heating and hammering 
ragged nailrods, for the sustenance those breasts can no 
longer supply ! Lord John ! look at those nails, as they 
lie hissing on the block. Know you their meaning, use, 
and language ? Please your lordship, let me tell you—I 
have made nails many a day and many a night— they are 
iron exclamation points, which this unlettered, dwarfed boy 
is unconsciously arraying against you, against the British 
government, and the government of British literature, for 
cutting him off without a letter of the English alphabet, 
when printing is done by steam ; for incarcerating him for 
no sin on his or his parent’s side, but poverty, into a dark, 
six-by-eight prison of hard labour, a youthless being—think 
of it!—an infant hardened, almost in its mother’s arms, 
into a man, by toil that bows the sturdiest of the world’s 


A2, T D THE NAILERS. 79 

labourers who come to manhood through intervening years 
of childhood ! 

The boy's father was at work with his back toward me, 
when I entered. At my first word of salutation to the lad, 
he turned around and accosted me a little bashfully, as if 
unaccustomed to the sight of strangers in that place, or 
reluctant to let them into the scene and secret of his pro¬ 
perty. I sat down upon one end of his nail-bench, and 
told him I was an American blacksmith by trade, and that 
I had come in to see how he got on in the world; whether 
he was earning pretty good wages at his business, so that 
he could live comfortably, and send his children to school. 
As I said this, I glanced inquiringly toward the boy, who 
was looking steadily at me from his stone stool by the 
anvil. Two or three little crock-faced girls, from two to 
five years of age, had stolen in timidly, and a couple of 
young, frightened eyes were peering over the door-sill at 
me. The poor Englishman—he was as much an English¬ 
man as the Duke of Wellington—looked at his bushy- 
headed, barefooted children, and said softly, with a melan¬ 
choly shake of the head, that the times were rather hard 
with him. It troubled his heart, and many hours of the 
night he had been kept awake by the thought of it, that 
he could not send his children to school, nor teach them 
himself to read. They were good children, he said, with a 
moist yearning in his eyes ; they were all the wealth he 
had, and he loved them the more, the harder lie had 
to work for them. The poorest part of the poverty that 
was on him, was that he could not give his children the 
letters. They were good children, for all the crock of the 
shop was on their faces, and their fingers were bent like 
eagle’s claws with handling nails. He had been a poor 
man all his days, and he knew his children would be poor 
all their days, and poorer than he, if the nail business 
should continue to grow worse. If he could only give them 
the letters, it would make them the like of rich ; for the\ 
they could read the Testament. He could read the Testa¬ 
ment a little, for he had learned the letters by the forge- 
liuht. It was a good book, was the Testament : and he 
was sure it was made for nailers and such like. It helped 
him wonderfully when the loaf was small on his table. He 
had but little time to read it when the sun was up, and it 
took him long to read a little, for he learned the letters 


80 AN HOUR WITH NATURE AND THE NAILERS. 

when he was old. But he laid it beside his dish at dinner 
time, and fed his heart with it, while his children were 
eating the bread that fell to his share. And when he had 
spelt out a line of the shortest words, he read them aloud, 
and his eldest boy, the one on the block there, could say 
several whole verses he had learned in this way. It was 
a great comfort to him to think that James could take into 
his heart so many verses of the Testament which he could 
not read. He intended to teach all his children in this 
wav. It was all he could do for them : and this he had to 

mf y 

do at meal times ; for all the other hours he had to be at the 
anvil. The nailing business was growing harder, he was 
growing old, and his family large. He had to work from 
four o’clock in the morning till ten o’clock at night to earn 
eighteen-pence. His wages averaged only about seven shil¬ 
lings a week ; and there were five of them in the family to 
live on what they could earn. It was hard to make up the 
loss of an hour. Not one of their hands, however little, 
could be spared. Jemmy was going on nine years of age, 
and a helpful lad he was; and the poor man looked at 
him dotingly. Jemmy could work off a thousand nails a 
day, of the smallest size. The rent of their little shop, 
tenement, and garden, was five pounds a year ; and a few 
pennies earned by the youngest of them was of great 
account. 

But, continued the blacksmith, speaking cheerily, I am 
not the one that ought to complain. Many is the man 
that has a harder lot of it than I, among the nailers along 
this hill and in the valley. My neighbour in the next 
door could tell you something about labour you may never 
have heard the like of in your country. He is an older 
man than I, and there are seven of them in his family ; 
and, for all that, he has no boy like Jemmy here to help 
him. Some of his little girls are sickly, and their mother 
is not over strong, and it all comes on him. He is an oldish 
man, as I was saying, yet he not only works eighteen hours 
every day at his forge, but every Friday in the year he works 
all night long, and never lays off his clothes till late of 
Saturday night. A good neighbour is John Stubbins, and 
the only man just in our neighbourhood who can read the 
newspaper. It is not often he gets a newspaper; for it is 
not the like of us that can have newspapers and bread too 
at the same time in our houses. But now and then he begs 


LAURA BRIDGMAN. 


81 


an old one, partly torn, at tlie baker’s, and reads it to ns 
of a Sunday niglit. So once in two or three weeks we bear 
something of what is going on in the world—something 
about Corn Laws, and the Duke of Wellington, and Oregon, 
and India, and Ireland, and other parts of England. We 
heard tell a while ago that the poor people would not have 
to make so many nails for a loaf of bread much longer, 
because Sir Robert Peel and some other men were going to 
take off the port-locks and other taxes, and let us buy 
bread of them that could sell it the cheapest. When we 
heard this talked of, without knowing the truth of it, John 
Stubbins took a penny and went to the White Hart and 
bought a drink of'beer, and then the landlady let him look 
into the newspaper which she keeps for her customers. 
When he came back, he told us a good deal of what was 
going on, and said he was sure the times would be better 
one of these days. 

Here he was interrupted by John Stubbins himself, who, 
hearing some strange voices mingling in earnest conversa¬ 
tion in the other end of the building, came round to see 
who was there. With the entrance of this John Stubbins, 
I must turn over another leaf of my journal. 


LAURA BRIDGMAN AND HER BARREL OF FLOUR, 

We wonder if any of our young friends in England have not 
heard or read something of this interesting American girl ? 
If there are any such, to whom the story of Laura Bridgman 
is unknown, we would merely say, that she is a young girl, 
in the Institution for the Blind, in Boston, United States of 
America, deaf, dumb, and blind. Just think of that condi¬ 
tion a moment. Every avenue to her mind is cut off, 
except the sense of feeling. We believe that of smelling is 
impaired, so as to be unable to perceive any relish in the 
sweet breath of flowers. Poor girl! had she been born among 
the heathen, she would have been left to perish as a worth¬ 
less thing, to whom life were of no value. But there were 
those who saw in her a candidate for immortal glory, a 
being that, deaf, dumb and blind as she was, could be 
made to sing, and hear the angels sing, in heaven, and see 
and taste all the beatitudes enjoyed there by spirits that 
never were pent in clayey tabernacles as windowless as 

e 3 



82 


LAURA BRIDGMAN. 


hers on earth. And they went to work and educated 
that single sense of feeling to the nicest susceptibilities. 
And they made a wooden alphabet, wooden models of 
ideas, of things that had been, are, and shall be in the 
world. And these she touched most thoughtfully, as if 
listening for the music of a new existence ; and, wonder¬ 
ful !. her fingers’ ends became endowed with faculties 
almost miraculous, and filled her mind with astonishing 
revelations of things present, past, and to come. Her little 
white, whispering, loving, listening fingers touched the 
record of the olden years, beyond the Flood, till they felt 
the branches of the forbidden tree, and the locks of mur¬ 
dered Abel, and the surges that beat against Noah’s helm¬ 
less ark, and the cradle of the Hebrew baby in the bul¬ 
rushes, and the tremulous base of Sinai, and David’s harp, 
and the face of the infant Emmanuel in the manger, and 
the nails that fastened him to the cross, and their deep 
prints, that unbelieving Thomas felt after the resurrection; 
and with his faith, on shorter evidence, she too had cried, 
in the voiceless language of her heart, “ My Lord ! and my 
God!” 

How she plied at morning, noon, and night, those fin¬ 
gers ! wonderful fingers ! It seemed that the very finger 
of God had touched them with miraculous susceptibilities 
of fellowship with the spirit world and that around her. 
She put them upon the face of His -written word, and felt 
them thrilled to her heart with the pulsation of His great 
thoughts of love to man. And then she felt for other’s 
woe. Poor child ! God bless her richly! she reached out 
her short arms to feel after some more unhappy than she 
in the condition of this life; some whose fingers’ ends had 
not read such sweet paragraphs of heaven’s mercy as hers 
had done; some who had not seen, heard, and felt, what 
her dumb, silent, deaf fingers had brought into her heart, 
of joy, hope, and love. Think of that, ye young eyes and 
ears that daily feast upon the beauty and melody of this 
outer -world. Within the atmosphere of her quick sensi¬ 
bilities she felt the presence of those whose cup was full of 
affliction. She put her fingers, with their throbbing sym¬ 
pathies, upon the lean, bloodless faces of the famishing 
children in Ireland, and her sightless eyes filled with the 
tears that the blind may shed for griefs they cannot see. 
And then she plied the needle with those fingers, and 


FAITII. 


83 


quickened tlieir industry by placing them anon upon the 
slow, sickly pulse of want, that wasted her kind at noon¬ 
day across the ocean. Days and nights too—for day and 
night were alike to her wakeful sympathies—and weeks 
she wrought on with her needle. And then the embroidery 
of those fingers was sold to the merchants—would it had 
been sold to England’s Queen, to be worn by the young 
Princesses on days of state—it was sold, and its purchase- 
price was a barrel of flour, instead of a country’s harvest, 
which it was well worth. And that barrel of flour was stored 
away, without other private mark than that the recording 
angel put upon it, among the thousands that freighted the 
Jamestown , on her recent mission of brotherly love to 
Ireland. That barrel of flour—would that it might be to 
all the children of want in Ireland what the barrel of meal 
was to the household of her who entertained the prophet 
of old. That barrel of flour ! would at least that those 
whom it supplies with bread might know what fingers 
wrought for their sustenance. 

Laura Bridgman and her Barrel of Flour 

should teach the world a lesson worth the woe3 of one 
year’s famine. Let all the children of England and Ame¬ 
rica learn that lesson by heart, and Ireland and the whole 
family of mankind will be the better for this grievous 
visitation of want. 


FAIT IL 

“ Faitii,” says the apostle, “ is the substance of things 
hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” It is not in 
the power of language to convey a more beautiful, philoso¬ 
phical, and comprehensive idea of that element and action 
of the mind. The substance of things hoped for; not the 
fugitive, deceptive shadow of a dream, or transient ignis 
fatui, dancing along the horizon of our vision ; not exactly 
the things themselves, but the substance of them, which the 
long arms of faith can reach, even across the ocean of time. 
And that substance, too, so much better adapted to our 
present state of being than “ the things hoped for”—-it is 
angels’ food, incarnated, materialized for man—an aliment 
for his triune nature. For the soul—at least during its 



FAITH. 


84 

co-partnership with flesh and blood—never forgets the ne¬ 
cessities of its humble, mortal colleague. When it reaches 
out its arms of faith into eternity, and feels in the palm of 
its God for a child’s portion, it always brings it home in a 
substance to which all the senses and yearnings of human 
nature may sit down and feast. It never makes a journey 
to heaven, without bringing back some choice things for 
each of the physical senses. To the sight, it daguerreotypes, 
on the retina of the eye, the great city of God, the New 
Jerusalem, with all its golden streets, its foundation-stones 
of celestial water, its gates of pearl, the great white throne, 
the robes and ranks of the heavenly hosts, the river of life, 
and visions of indescribable magnificence. To another 
sense it spreads out the marriage-supper of the Lamb, and 
fruits and flowers of immortal taste and bloom. To the 
ear it brings the melody of the golden harps, the strains 
of angel anthems. In short, it creates a heaven for every 
sense, and sets the whole family of them a longing for it, 
and then feeds them with the substance of the things hoped 
for. 

What a mysterious connection between the mortal and 
immortal natures of man ! What deep and deathless sym¬ 
pathies unite them ! What love, stronger than death, would 
bind them to a common destiny ! IIow the soul longs 
to have the body share in its immortality ! How fondly it 
clings to it from the cradle to the grave, as if it could not 
survive its humanity ! It would fain forget its own prero¬ 
gative of ceaseless existence ; it would almost forego its own 
inevitable immortality, while seeking to cheer its sorrowful, 
sickly, sinking companion, with the hopes of a new life 
beyond the grave. It matters not what ghastly ills, what 
mutilating accidents, what loathsome, life-eating diseases, 
prey upon the flesh and blood ; the soul, with all its angel 
aspirations, is never ashamed of its mortal partner, but 
clings to it with new and stronger yearnings of affection. 

See the aged Christian, tottering on life’s tremendous 
verge ! What tender communings are going on between his 
two dissolving natures! “ Immortal spirit, must we part 
for ever here?” cries his poor, dying flesh, with all" its 
lisping tongues. “ Look into this cold, dark grave; wilt 
thou leave me to moulder here in dust, to coalesce and sleep 
forgotten with the common ground, whilst thou, an angel 
blest, shalt sing and soar in a bright and glorious life f 


FAITH. 


85 


“ And me,” asks the dim, closing eye, “wilt thou forget me 
when my light is quenched ? wilt thou forget, in yonder 
bright world, the visions of heaven’s magnificence which 
thou didst promise me in return for these sublunary scenes, 
this everchanging vista of terrestrial beauty, which I opened 
to thy view ?” “ Give us thy last, parting kiss,” sigh the 

cold, marble lips, “ and then say, wilt thou not remember, 
when thou joinest ‘the quiring cherubim’ above, that we 
lisped forth thy first infant song of love; that we uttered 
that prayer of penitence that brought thee down the pardon 
of thy God ; that we gave voice to thy thoughts of love, and 
sang thy hymns of praise, and set the melody in thy heart 
to strains of music almost divine 1 ? “Look on us,” moan 
the fleshless, palsied hands; “ when thy Lord shall greet 
thee in his kingdom of rest with, ‘Well done, good and 
faithful servant,’ wilt thou not remember then, that all thy 
mercy-deeds on earth, and sweet-breathing acts, cost us 
some toil! When we have melted into dust, and thou, with 
other hands, art striking the harps of that spirit world, wilt 
thou not remember then that we prepared and bore thy 
secret alms to the widow’s cot, and smoothed the sick 
stranger’s pillow, and soothed his throbbing brow, and wet 
his parched lips?” “Look on us,” groan the motionless, 
ice-bound feet; “ when thou walkest the golden streets of 
the city of thy God, with the spirits blest and pure, wilt 
thou not remember that we bore thee in these humbler 
walks, and on all thy missions of mercy, to the house of 
God, the house of mourning, to the prisoner’s cell, to secret 
places of private grief, to heavenly places in Christ J esus ?” 

“No, no! Forget thee?” cries the fond spirit in the 
accents of its immortal love ; “ forget thee, bride of my life, 
because thou art cold and dead ? forget thee, partner of my 
joys and sorrows, because thou art gone to the grave, where 
none can tell thy dust from the common ground ? forget 
thee, companion in my journey through time, because no 
record of thy existence shall be left on earth ? No, never ! 
I will not leave thee nor forget thee. I will watch over thy 
quiet home during the centuries of thy slumber. Though 
the angels should woo me to take their form, I would 
tell them that I was wedded, and waiting for my bride, 
whom the Resurrection and the Life shall bring from 
thy grave to my arms. Forget thee? No ! I will forego 
the full fruition of heaven’s beatitudes, until thou shalt 


86 


“no one livetil to himself.” 

share with me in their bliss. I will sip lightly at the 
unsealed fountains of salvation, till thou art restored to 
me, a glorious form, to make my heaven complete.” 


“ NO ONE LIVETH TO HIMSELF.” 

There is nothing in the universe that stands alone— 
nothing solitary. No atom of matter, no drop of water, no 
vesicle of air, or ray of light, exists in a state'of isolation. 
Every thing belongs to some system of society, of which it is 
a component and necessary part. Just so it is in the moral 
world. No man stands alone, nor high angel, nor child. 
All the beings “ lessening down from Infinite Perfection to 
the brink of dreary nothing,” belong to a system of mutual 
dependencies. All and each constitute and enjoy a part of 
the world’s sum of happiness. No one liveth to himself. 
The destiny of the moral universe is affected by his exist¬ 
ence and influence. The most obscure individual exerts 
an influence which must be felt in the great brotherhood 
of mankind. Should the hand say to the foot, “ I have no 
need of thee,” the world would stand still. 

No human being can come into this world without 
increasing or diminishing the sum total of human happi¬ 
ness, not only of the present, but of every subsequent age 
of humanity. No one can detach himself from this con¬ 
nection. There is no sequestered spot in the universe, no 
dark niche along the disk of non-existence, to which he 
can retreat from his relations to others, where he can with¬ 
draw the influence of his existence upon the moral destiny 
of the world. Everywhere his presence or absence will be 
felt. Everywhere he will have companions, who will be 
better or worse for his influence. 

It is an old saying, and one of fearful and fathomless 
import, that we are here forming characters for eternity. 
Forming characters ! — whose h our own ? or others h 
Both ; and in that momentous fact lie the peril and 
responsibility of our existence. Who is sufficient for the 
thought !—thousands of my fellow-beings will yearly, and 
till years shall end, enter eternity with characters differing 
from those they would liave carried thither had I never 
lived. The sunlight of that world will reveal my finger¬ 
marks in their 'primary formations, and in all their sue - 



THE TRUE AMERICAN. 


87 


cessivc strata of thought and life. And they too will form 
other characters for eternity, until the influence of my exist¬ 
ence shall be diffused through all the future generations of 
this world, and through all that shall be future to a certain 
point in the world to come. As the little silvery, circular 
ripple, set in motion by the falling pebble, expands from 
its inch of radius to the whole compass of the pool; so 
there is not a child, not an infant Moses placed, however 
softly, in his bulrush ark upon the sea of time, whose 
existence does not stir a ripple, gyrating outward and on, 
until it shall have moved across and spanned the whole 
ocean of God’s eternity, stirring even the river of life and 
the fountains at which his tall angels drink. 

“ To be, or not to be ?” is that the question ? No ! we 
are ; and whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s ; we 
belong to his eternity, and henceforth his moral universe 
will be filled with our existence. 


THE TRUE AMERICAN.* 

The first number of this freedom paper has come to us, 
and we have read it with mingled emotions of pain and 
pleasure. Of pain, because of the tone of articles copied 
into its columns from the Kentucky press, which insidiously 
appeal to the lowest passions of the populace to suppress 
this attempt to discuss the question of Slavery in the very 
Africa of the institution. Of pleasure, at the heroic deter¬ 
mination of its editor “ to 'proclaim liberty throughout the 
land,” in the very teeth of all opposition. Of pain, again, 
that he fears to trust himself and his cause to moral force 
alone—that right arm of God—whereon whoso leans and 
wherewith whoso works, shall pull down the strongholds of 4 
Satan, and Slavery, and Sin. We should regret, beyond 
expression, to see a Samson shorn of his locks by his own 

* The “ True American” was a newspaper established in defence of 
the cause of liberty, by Cassius M. Clay, a warm-hearted citizen of 
Kentucky. Provoked, however, by the scorn and contumely heaped 
upon him by the pro-slavery party, he unguardedly avowed his readiness 
to meet any adversary in what is so foolishly and wickedly called 
the “ field of honour.” 

While the said Editor was ill, a pro-slavery mob broke up his printing- 
presses, and sent them out of the State. 

These facts will explain the two following articles. 



88 


THE TRUE AMERICAN. 


bowie-knife of physical force. These murderous tools of 
steel are the veriest straws in a contest with men ; for cut 
where and whom they may, they cannot reach the inner 
heart of human nature ; they can never kill what we would 
wish to slay, and which, slain, would leave our opponent- 
more alive—the soul of error. This contest is not with 
flesh and blood ; not to break people’s bones, but to break 
the heart of the human will, to pierce the invisible spirit 
of obstinate ignorance with some healthy throes of godly 
repentance. Is that the business of a butcher-knife with 
an ivory handle % Can you stab thoughts with such a tool ? 
then, if you cannot stab thoughts; if you cannot kill hatred, 
bigotry, ignorance, and moral blindness, with it, you may 
just as well run its point into a hemlock stump as into 
human flesh, for all the good that you or any body else 
may get by it. 

No, Cassius Clay ! send us your bowie-knife, and we 
will work out the prophecy on it; we will beat it into a 
pruning-hook for you—a tool of great moral power—or 
into a curb-chain for your horse. Never, never talk of 
meeting a “ rampant knight” in a duel. There are great 
hopes in New England that hold their wealth in your des¬ 
tiny, and which would be reduced to pauperage at a single 
drop of blood shed or lost by you in that field of godless ho¬ 
nour to which you allude. What! cast the bleeding cause of 
humanity and all that you have promised and are able to do 
for man, upon the hazard of such a die, to be determined by 
the explosion of two cents’ worth of gunpowder ! Can you 
submit these high-born principles to such an umpirage ? A 
duel! what does it decide 1 How does its result affect the 
question of right or wrong between two human beings 1 
Suppose two great men—say like Daniel Lambert and Dr. 
Payson—should submit “ a question of honour” to the 
umpirage of physical force, after this fashion. A pair of 
scales should be erected on a scaffold over a horrid precipice 
of rocks, where he who “kicked the beam” should inevi¬ 
tably be dashed to pieces. The two combatants step into 
the scales to decide by the avoirdupois in them, which is 
the most innocent, righteous, and honourable; and the fate 
of the lightest is to prove his weight of guilt and disgrace ! 
They are both men of great weight, in their way. The 
moral character of Dr. Payson is exceedingly weighty, 
while his body weighs scarcely one hundred and fifty 


THE TRUE AMERICAN. 


89 


pounds. Lambert’s moral character is light as a vapour, 
while his solid flesh w r eighs half a ton. In the twinkling 
of an eye, the question is decided ; and the great and good 
Payson lies a mangled corse on the sharp rocks below. Of 
what account, in that umpirage, was all the lofty eloquence 
of his Christian life ; the heaven-kindled inspiration of his 
prayers; his soaring thoughts that played on the harp- 
strings of heaven while he walked on earth? Were they 
the value of a feather’s weight in his scale 1 If to his there 
had been aggregated all the moral virtues of the sinless 
hosts above, would it all have been of as much worth to 
him as five hundred pounds of horse flesh or cast-iron, or 
even as “ the small dust in the balance,” in which he was 
suspended over eternity ? 

Now, then, suppose you should put your soul against the 
body of some soulless, well-trained ruffian on “ the field of 
honour,” what would the result prove in your favour more 
than was ascertained in the case we have supposed ? Would 
you not be putting off all the divine attributes of humanity 
to meet a fellow-being in the character of a beast of prey ? 
Would any other virtues be involved in the combat than 
the lowest, fiercest passions of tigers and hyenas ? Suppose 
you should fall, or you should fall your opponent, what 
then ? What has happened in the moral world, in man's 
world ? Why, two dismantled bipeds, discontented with 
the dignity of human nature, have been emulating savage 
beasts, and that, too, without getting down and fighting on 
“ all fours,” as they should have done out of respect to their 
illustrious predecessors. And one of them has fallen with 
a butcher-knife or bullet-hole in his heart; fallen like 
a beast. Had he learning, fame, and glowing and lofty 
eloquence; did the splendour of his intellectual gifts, his 
thoughts of ever-speaking life, excite the admiration of the 
nation ; he put them all into an ignoble equation with 
brute force, where they were not worth a feather to him. 
He died a fool, or lived a murderer, would be all that his 
tombstone or hearthstone could claim. Let not Cassius 
Clay lose his soul for that epitaph, nor wear in his right 
hand that perdition seal of a neighbour’s soul, “that 
damned spot” of his brother’s blood, which the corroding 
remorse of ages shall not eat out. 


90 


THE MARTYR AGE OP THE UNITED STATES. 


THE MARTYR AGE OF TIIE UNITED STATES. 

This epocli in the annals of human freedom, to be remem¬ 
bered hereafter as the Martyr Age, is to be enriched by the 
sacrifice of another hero. The spirit that kindled the fires 
at Smitkfield, is ripe for another auto da fe. It is thirsting 
for the blood of a new and illustrious victim, a new and 
distinguished burnt-offering for the black altar of slavery. 
Truly this is the age of brandings and burnings. “ Heat 
me these irons hot!” is the mandate of Slavery to her 
craven, cowardly assassins of free thought and speech. And 
irons are heated and sharpened to murderous keenness, and 
fires kindled as in the old ages of tyranny, in defence and 
worship of that devil’s progeny which has slimed and 
slavered this fair portion of God’s heritage with its red 
pollution. Men are walking in our midst with the initials 
of their martyrdom burnt deep into their flesh—men with 
virtue enough in their hearts to make a nation of better 
politicians than the world ever saw—men who can walk 
erect and look heaven in the face, and that same cashiered 
devil, slavery, in the face, nor wince at the length and 
poisonous prehension of its scorpion fangs, in the great 
faith they have that the seed of common women will one 
day bruise that serpent’s head, and chain him in his own 
place, according to the apocalypse. Men walking in our 
midst, said we ? No ; too fast: rather walking on pillo¬ 
ries, in prison-cells, and work-yards of penitentiaries, 
doomed to hammer stone for venturing to strike off the 
shackles from a single slave. Ere the red mire of Lovejoy’s 
blood was dry at Alton ; ere the irons were cool that 
stamped a hero’s name in Walker’s hand, the great Ame¬ 
rican Dagon, with his supple Philistines have fallen upon 
the sick Samson of the African Israel, and put out his 
eyes, they think, and bound his giant limbs with green 
withes. Beware, ye uncircumcised cowards ! The God of 
that same African Israel is not bound, nor are his eyes put 
out, nor his ears stopped with your miserly prevention. 
Nor will he leave his servant bound. Cassius M. Clay is 
not dead ! Nor is his sight quenched in darkness, though 
ye have put out the light of that Press. There is a specu¬ 
lation in that eye whose lightning ken shall yet fathom 
your huge iniquity. A hard war this of yours against the 


COLD-BLOODED HOMICIDE. 


91 


Press. You might as well hope to suppress the atmosphere. 
The Press ! think you that one of its speaking mouths, or 
working arsenals of thought, is silenced when a Newspaper 
is destroyed ? As well might you fancy that you had 
diminished the atmosphere circling the earth by the brief 
exhaustion of an air pump. You may exterminate a thou¬ 
sand newspapers, and yet not reach the Press. In the 
omnipresent immortality of mind, it lives in the strength 
of its great life, and it will fill the space from this dull 
earth to the empyrean vaults with Titan-handed thoughts 
hurling the world’s indignation at you. Cassius M. Clay 
is alive. Kill him, if you will, and every drop of his blood 
that falls to the ground will usher into the world a full- 
grown and full-armed Cassius M. Clay. Sic semper Ty~ 
rannis. 


COLD-BLOODED HOMICIDE. 

Among other customs of a dark antiquity, which have 
dared to cross that Rubicon of time, the cross-crowned 
summit of Calvary, and to come down, hand in hand, with 
the institutions of Christianity, cold-blooded, deliberate, 
legal homicide on the gallows, is now arraigned at the bar 
of public opinion, as diametrically opposed to revelation, 
reason, religion, and humanity. The crisis of this im¬ 
portant trial is near at hand; and the case is committed 
to the jury of Christendom, with such an accumulation 
of evidence as was scarcely ever arrayed against any 
institution contemporary and kindred with the earliest 
and most aggravated atrocities of human violence and 
revenge. There is no room to doubt what the verdict 
will be. The sentence is as good as uttered, and the 
gallows as good as coffined and buried among things that 
shall have no resurrection from the grave of oblivion. In 
the thick-set array of charges brought against it, this fact, 
in our estimation, is worthy of prominence. It has set an 
example of the violability of human life, which no mur¬ 
derers of any age or country, ever dared to copy ;—an 
example of homicide which finds no parallel in the records 
of individual revenge. We have heard of cold-blooded 
murders, perpetrated with slow premeditation, but none like 
those of the scaffold. We cannot conceive them possible 



92 


COLD-BLOODED HOMICIDE. 


even to the most malignant forms of private malice. Let 
us consolidate a Christian community and government in 
one Christian man, and invest him with all their relations, 
powers, and laws, and then consider the act of a deliberate 
extinction of a human life by him on the gallows. He has 
got his man into his power. That man is his mortal 
enemy. He and his family have suffered from him every 
species of violence, and even the murder of one of its mem¬ 
bers. He takes the law into his own hands, in every pro¬ 
cess known to its execution. He is compelled to be his 
own witness, sheriff, advocate, judge, priest and executioner. 
As such, he has arrested, tried, and condemned the criminal 
to death. He rushed upon the murderer of his child, and 
secured him, just as he had dealt the fatal blow. But he 
did not execute judgment speedily—he defers it until the 
tumult of his passions is stilled—until he can do it, as the 
law professes to do it, without any personal hatred or ill- 
will to the murderer, but as a punishment of his crime, and 
as a warning to others against its perpetration. He thinks 
that in six months’ time he can put the man to death in 
cool blood, divested of all motives of personal revenge, and 
he fixes the day for his execution accordingly. He prepares 
a vault in the bottom of his cellar, into which he thrusts 
the fettered criminal, and tells him he shall die six months 
from that day, and bids him prepare for another world. 
Morning, noon and evening he visits the condemned, and 
administers food to him through the grated aperture of his 
dungeon. This is not all; he labours to convince the 
prisoner that no personal malice or ill-Vill has dictated 
the sentence which he shall execute upon him. He is 
solicitous for the salvation of his soul, and labours for his 
eternal happiness. He reads the Holy Scriptures to him, 
and prays with him twice a day. His religious instructions 
are accompanied by the regenerating influence of the Holy 
Spirit. The murderer is melted into the deepest contrition. 
He is slain and made alive again by His Spirit, who alone 
can kill and make alive. He has become a new creature in 
Christ Jesus. The pardoning mercy of God has reached 
him, as it did the thief on the cross, and the crimson crime 
of his soul has been washed away by the all-atoning blood 
of Him who took away the sins of the dying malefactor, 
at his first emotion of penitence and faith. The light and 
loving-kindness of a pardoning God shine into his heart, 


COLD-BLOODED HOMICIDE. 


93 


and give him songs of joy in the night. His executioner 
joins in these songs, and the dungeon’s grated aperture 
gradually becomes to them the very gate of heaven, 
while learning on earth to sing together in heaven the 
new song of Moses and the Lamb. They are filled 
with endearing communings with the Spirit of all grace, 
and look and long for the manifestation of the sons of 
God ; when they shall appear with the redeemed on 
high, and sing together again their song of salvation and 
praise unto Him who hath washed away their sins 
in his own blood, and made them both kings and priests 
unto God. Looking for and hastening unto this glo¬ 
rious consummation, their hearts are already bound to¬ 
gether in the bond of love and life eternal, and merge 
into one, like kindred drops of immortality, while on the 
way to the scaffold. The day draws near, and the hour, 
when the twain must be separated ; when this Christian 
communing must be broken off on earth, by one of the 
communicants deliberately breaking the neck of his brother 
with the halter, and all in love prepense. The hour has 
come,—the sad hour of separation; and the Christian 
executioner comes, with his heart yearning with the sym¬ 
pathies of Christ-like compassion; with tears in his eyes; 
with a rope in one hand, and the emblems of a Saviour’s 
broken body, and shed blood in the other. He draws near 
to the dungeon grate, and thus addresses his fellow-mem¬ 
ber of Christ’s body :— 

“ Brother, the hour has come when I must send you out 
of my sight into the immediate presence of God. The light 
of his reconciled countenance has shone upon you in prison, 
and we have rejoiced together in the tokens of his pardoning 
love and salvation. Rejoice, my brother. This change will 
be gain to you, while it is my loss. You will enter first 
into the joy of our Lord. There is a harp of gold waiting 
for you in heaven,—a mansion of glory there,—a seat at 
the marriage-supper of the Lamb, and an innumerable 
company of the blest to welcome you to their communion. 
This day—this hour—shalt thou be with them in paradise. 
They are waiting for you ; a multitude which no man can 
number, of spirits redeemed, purified, and spotless, are 
welcoming you to their fellowship. You have been washed 
in the all-atoning blood of their Saviour, and fitted for 
their company; but you are not fit to live longer with 
your sinful fellow-men upon earth. Your feet will leave 


COLD-BLOODED HOMICIDE. 


94 

no stain upon tlie pure pavement of the New Jerusalem, 
but they would leave the polluting prints of blood upon 
the ground which mortals tread. God may forgive, but 
man cannot, the act for which you must die. His broken 
laws may be restored by the contrition of the guilty; but 
those made by man cannot bend to mercy, or listen to 
repentance, or heed its tears. Brother, take of this bread 
and of this cup once more with me, before you celebrate in 
heaven the love it commemorates. And now—come, Lord 
Jesus ! come quickly ! and put upon thy servant thy crown 
of glory whilst I fit my noosed halter to his neck. Lord 
Jesus ! receive his spirit! Take him home with thee, to the 
mansions thou hast prepared for thy redeemed ones. Take 
his ransomed soul to thy bosom, and to the bliss of thy 
everlasting joy ; for he was not fit to live longer upon the 
earth with sinful men.” 

Now, is there a human conscience, ever visited by the 
light of divine revelation, that could contemplate such a 
case of private, deliberate homicide, without a thrill of 
horror'? We have thrown around this case all the miti¬ 
gating circumstances which any government could plead 
in behalf of taking human life upon the gallows. We 
have concentrated a community and a government in one 
man, with all their duties, functions, laws and relations. 
In the person, authority and power of a community, he 
has executed a murderer under the circumstances we have 
contemplated. Could a community have suffered more 
deeply than he did by the act of the criminal? Could it 
have had better evidence of his guilt than he ? Could it 
have executed judgment more dispassionately than he did ? 
Bid he not fill the relation and maintain the character of 
any Christian government, that takes life for life, toward 
his fellow-being ? Bid the slightest sentiment of personal 
revenge or malice mingle with the motives which prompted 
the execution ? On the other hand, could any Christian 
government have taken life more leniently, or have deported 
itself with more clemency, mercy, and humanity, towards 
the unfortunate being, than he did ? Why, then, should 
the case of private, deliberate homicide we have supposed, 
be deemed more inconsistent with the spirit and precepts of 
Christianity, and with the dictates of reason and humanity, 
than any case of capital punishment inflicted by Govern¬ 
ment ? 

But we have taken the mildest case of homicide that it 


AN AMERICAN SLAVE IN LONDON. 


05 


was possible to conceive. If it seemed such a monstrous 
inconsistency in that Christian executioner to put to death, 
in the avowed exercise of Christian charity, one whom he 
believed fitted for heaven and the fellowship of angels— 
one whom God had pardoned and accepted—how must we 
regard the act of deliberately sending an unprepared soul 
to the bar of God, all reeking with its unwashed guilt—of 
driving a shipwrecked soul from the narrow plank of man’s 
probation, to sink into the black abyss of a sunless eternity, 
with its tremendous and hopeless immortality about its 
neck, like a burning mountain of the Almighty’s wrath, 
pressing it deeper and deeper into unfathomable night ? 
If this earth be the only praying ground for fallen man in 
the universe—if it be but a narrow raft floating on the 
shoreless ocean of eternity, from which alone souls ship¬ 
wrecked by sin may be taken into Heaven’s haven of salva¬ 
tion, 0, let us leave to the guiltiest of our kind, place and 
breath to pray, as long as God will hear. Let Him, who 
alone can kill and make alive, determine the hour when 
time shall be no more to the sinner to ask for mercy. 


AN AMERICAN SLAVE IN LONDON. 

The leap for liberty, that sweetest boon of heaven, had 
been adventured. The desperate struggle was over; and 
that boon was his, to die with, apparently; for he seemed 
to be trembling on the extremest verge of life. There he 
was, in that city-world, great London, wherein dwell shapes 
and phases and faculties of human wretchedness almost 
infinite in number and variety. But an American slave, 
with the bracelets of a Republic, or their red marks, on his 
feet and hands, was as unique a wonder as if a common 
beggar'had never walked the city. Slavery, disguise itself 
as it may, can never hide under the rags of poverty, nor 
merge its chattel mark with the lineaments of common 
wretchedness. And there was this poor man, trembling in 
the midst of the bold beggars—trembling with a sense of 
the guilt of his skin, that original sin of his constitution, 
for which he had done penance in a Christian land for 
thirty years on the tread-mill of slavery. It is an affect¬ 
ing sight to see an American slave any where, either at 



96 


AN AMERICAN SLAVE IN LONDON. 


home or abroad, while panting with his run for life. Of 
all human beings, none are goaded by day and night by 
such a distorted conscience as that which afflicts him. He 
wears his guilt like the mark of Cain, and every white 
man he meets is a species of avenger of his African blood. 
Had all the laws and the prophets been concentrated in the 
command, “ Thou shalt have a while shin and straight hair ,” 
he could not have borne about with him a more painful 
sense of unpardonable sin, than that under which he hangs 
his head in the presence of his fellow-beings. Having 
suffered, for thirty or forty years, a more degrading punish¬ 
ment for the crime of colour, than ever visited sin against 
God on man, by human authority, how can he divest him¬ 
self of this unnatural conscience, that, with a scourge 
borrowed from the.driver’s hand, chases him through every 
lane of life, and fills his dreams with the baying of the 
blood-hounds and the tread of his pursuers ! How can he, 
in a day, a month, or year, acquire a sense and attitude of 
innocency before the world, and stand up erect and look 
the world in the face, and say, “ I am not guilty l” Hot 
guilty ! Gracious heavens ! what a charge, then, of false 
imprisonment you can enter at the tribunal of mankind, 
against those who made you grind in the house of bondage 
for thirty years % “ Not guilty ,” said the American slave 

in London ; " Not guilty ,” he said tremulously, and he bent 
his head to his bosom and crouched towards the fire ; for 
the ague was on him for the nights he had lain upon the 
cold floor of his prison-house. What a desperate plea ! 
what an appeal from the laws of his country ! from the 
unanimous verdict of six millions of his countrymen, which 
had pronounced him an African by blood, and sentenced 
him and all his posterity to the condition of brute beasts ! 

The Bible, God’s Magna Charta of human liberty, had 
been wound around with the slave-holders lash, to keep 
its divine revelations from the bondman. But there was, 
in all the darkness that surrounded him, a ray of that light 
which lighteth every man that cometh into the world; and 
it fell faintly and dimly upon his oppressed conscience, 
until he saw and felt that his colour was not the com¬ 
plexion of crime; and he determined to encounter the 
tremendous odds, and seek a jury in the wide world who 
should listen to his appeal, and reverse the verdict that 
had made him a slave. 


AN AMERICAN SLAVE IN LONDON. 


97 


He could not read ; for it is a breach of the laws, which 
fix his condition, to teach a slave to read. He could 
not read the names and destination of the ships that 
alighted in the harbour, like carrier eagles. Whence they 
came, and whither they went, was a mystery beyond his 
means of solution. He daily saw them spread their great 
white wings and soar away through the blue ocean-firma¬ 
ment, and wondered much what kind of land they would 
alight at—what kind of people would hail their coming. 
And among these querulous thoughts, this last would steal 
in—whether colour was crime, on that distant shore. It 
was little he knew of the location of countries. The North 
star was the sum and centre of all his geographical facts. 
And Canada was directly under the North star, and all who 
reached that paradise of freedom from Southern bondage, 
stole away by night, and travelled through forests, and 
over mountains, for weeks and months. This he knew by 
tradition ; but when these ships finished their course and 
dropped their anchors, which he daily saw vanishing in 
the distance, was a question for conjecture. They could 
not be bound for Canada ; he was sure of that. But did, 
slavery cover all the earth but Canada ? Might not one in 
ten of these ocean ships anchor by some foreign shore, 
where a slave might walk a freeman 1 Hope and faith 
jointly reared that thought into a living idea, that filled 
his mind by night and day. His condition could not be 
worse. He could be but a slave, wherever he might be cast. 

The note of preparation about a large merchantman 
indicated that it was about to weigh anchor for a foreign 
port. The deck and wharf were covered with busy men, 
wrestling with bales, boxes and barrels. But there was 
one man, coloured like half the rest, who carried a bag 
closely by his side, not entered upon the ship’s invoice. 
It was filled with the fragments and savings from many 
scanty meals. With this he found his way into the fore¬ 
part of the ship, where he espied a little space, which 
another bale or box would close from sight. While the 
crew were busy in stowing away the freight, he slunk into 
the narrow nook with his bag, and the next minute the 
aperture was closed, and to his great joy he was left in 
utter darkness. 

The hurried tramp upon deck waxed louder and louder; 
and the fugitive held his breath to listen. “ lie l llo ! 

p 


98 


AN AMERICAN SLATE IN LONDON. 


Hoy ! ” at last fell upon his ears like the voice of salvation, 
and he closely hugged the floor to his bosom, to still the 
noise of his beating heart. “He! Ho! Hoy!—Hoy!— 
Oy—Ee ! 0 ! Hoy!” The ship is sidling off from the wharf. 
The voices on deck are suppressed, and the captain’s is 
heard alone. “Aye ! aye! sir!” comes down in response 
from the thronged spars; and the sound of the fluttering 
canvass has already spread the wings of hope in the heart 
of the American slave. The ship moves—slowly—hut it 
moves. A splash, now ! It is the hawser, and the sailors 
are pulling it in. Now there is a gurgling sound against 
the ship’s side. It moves ! it moves ! “ The land of the 

free and the home of the brave” recedes inch by inch. 
Another sail is shaken out to the breeze, and the gurgling 
furrow of the keel is deepened. There is a space which 
cannot be swum, between him and his master. In ten 
minutes more it will be doubled. Still another sail falls 
booming from the yard, and the ship creaks beneath the 
canvass. The last sound from the land of slavery dies 
away upon his ear, and he is drifting far out upon the 
ocean Kubicon. He breathes freer, but not a freeman ; 
and the thought of the unknown land to which he is 
bound, displaces the painful idea of the one he had left. 
The ship keeps on its course—but whither, he knows not. 
Is it northward, or southward, or eastward ? He cannot 
tell; it is not westward, and that cheers his hope of free¬ 
dom. He fears the light, lest he should be discovered ; 
but he longs for one look from the deck, merely to see if 
the fearful vision of the land of bondage has disappeared. 
Now it is night; although the night and the day are both 
alike to him, as far as light is concerned. Nature knows 
when night comes, even to one born blind. And nights 
came to the American slave, and days, and dreams, and 
lights and shades of hope and despair, which he could not 
describe. 

His story was short and simple. He was writhing with 
the ague, and there was a rheumatic fever in every joint. 
He breathed painfully, and with an effort that shook the 
chair in the corner. He had an old calico coat on him 
when he hid himself away in the ship ; but little of that 
now hung upon his shoulders. It was the last of Novem¬ 
ber, and he could say but little of his perilous passage 
across the ocean. He had done all nature could do to 


AN AMERICAN SLAVE IN LONDON. 99 

make bis crackers last until the skip should anchor at 
some foreign port. He knew he had nothing to hope of 
the captain or his men, and he put himself on the closest 
allowance that could sustain life. But it was in vain. 
Twenty-one days he had been out upon the sea, yet no cry 
of land was heard. The last cracker was gone. Three 
days and nights he had lived without a morsel of food. 
Life and liberty seemed to recede ; and he clutched at 
them in a cry for help. Peradventure there might ba 
flesh in the captain's heart, out upon that interminable 
ocean, and he cried louder still, “Save me! I 'perish!" 
He was dragged from his hiding-place, trembling and 
haggard, into the presence of the captain, who demanded, 
in a voice of angry surprise, whence he came. In a few 
broken words he told his story, and his entreaties for 
mercy were interrupted by a volley of oaths and threats 
that he should be sent back to slavery by the first ship 
they met bound to America. He pleaded for mercy with 
all the earnestness of his last hope of freedom, and then in 
all the strength of his despair; but in vain. He was 
ordered to be put in irons, and to be kept upon bread and 
water until some vessel should heave in sight by which 
the captain and crew might escape conviction of humanity, 
by sending the fugitive back to his bondage. But no such 
sail was descried, though sought in the distance with the 
telescope; and the slave hoped on in his fetters. He was 
on deck, with his hands manacled together, when a green 
land loomed up from the sea, like a vision of a new world. 
Life and liberty came back to his despairing heart with all 
the impulse of their strong yearnings, and he essayed to 
wring the iron from his limbs. Now the towers and spires, 
and the dim outlines of a distant city, arise before his eyes, 
and the ship entered the waters of the Bhine, and that city 
was Rotterdam ; and soon they were threading their way 
through a fleet of vessels of every flag. The moment had 
come, and Liberty or Death was to be the issue of the leap. 
The sailors were busy in taking in the sails and letting go 
the anchor. Now or never—and the American slave, 

“ accoutred as he was,” sprang from the deck into the 
river. His hands were closely ironed together; but he 
struggled manfully with the current for life and liberty. 
He was descried by the crew of a Dutch boat passing near, 
who rescued him, just as he was sinking for the last time, 


100 AN EVENING WALK WITH THE CHILDREN. 

and conducted him to the ship to which they belonged. 
He came before the captain, who recognised the jewels of 
a republic, and saw that the poor man was an American 
slave, and in bonds for the colour of his skin. His iron 
bracelets were wrung by strong hands from his, and he was 
conducted to the English Consul, and by the next steamer 
to England ; in a few hours he trod a soil upon which no 
slave can breathe. When I saw him, he was still wet with 
his leap into the Rhine. A re-action had come over him. 
The perils of the escape had been encountered. Nature 
had exhausted all her latent energies in the struggle for 
liberty. The sustaining invigoration of fear and hope was 
gone, and he hung his head and crouched toward the fire, 
as if there were nothing left to ask for, but to die a free¬ 
man. Nor did he ask aloud for this, or for any thing ; 
but sat quaking with the ague, and uttered not a complaint 
nor a murmur of pain, except when left alone for a moment 
in the room. Here was a fellow-countryman, appealing to 
the world, in the silent remonstrance of his suffering, 
against a false imprisonment for colour in the American 
house of bondage. I plead guilty for my country, with a 
sense of shame I cannot describe. It was the first time, I 
believe, that I ever had two over-coats at once, and thus 
was able to comply literally with the gospel precept, and 
share them with a suffering fellow-being. And as this was 
the first time I ever enjoyed that luxury, I put the best of 
the twain upon him—a warm and thick one—and felt new 
comfort in the one I wore. The hat I had worn for two 
years fitted him well ; and I left him with a feeling of 
gratitude that I could give even so poor “ a freedom suit ” 
to an American slave in London. 


AN EVENING WALK WITH THE CHILDREN. 

And the evening is beautiful! and the heavens are full 
of stars, mirroring their silvery faces in the snow ; and the 
still woods are jewelled with ice-diamonds, and waiting 
waveless the rising moon. And the Northern Lights, like 
Zephyrs zoned with rainbows, are waltzing on the pearly 
pavements of the polar sky. And the mountains look like 
waves of a silver sea, rising heaven-ward to greet the stars; 



AN EVENING WALK WITH THE CHILDREN. 101 

and the sky like a sea of molten sapphire, with its golden 
tresses drooping fondly on the brow of the mountains. It 
is beautiful: too beautiful to shut out of our sight. Let 
us all go out doors and read a few paragraphs in the album 
of the heavens. For this firmament above is the Great 
Album of the Creator, and the suns are the syllables and 
the stars are the letters, with which he registers his handi¬ 
works. And the first man, on the first evening of this new 
creation, looked up into the same sky-record, and tried to 
read the illuminated manuscript of his Maker.—And the 
generations before the Flood gazed at these same stars; 
and men that saAV nearly the evenings of a thousand years 
on the earth, looked up at these same golden eyes of heaven, 
which now look down on us ; and they called them by 
name, and by their light they drove their flocks to new 
pastures in the old world. And when the fountains of the 
great deep were broken up, and the windows of heaven 
were opened, and the floods came, and a long night of 
darkness, the good man in the ark remembered the stars 
that studded the firmament in his boyhood’s time, and the 
names they were called by among the fathers of the human 
race. And when the deep, black clouds rolled away, they 
shone out of their old places in the sky upon him, and he 
felt at home again, though floating over the shoreless waste 
of waters, without compass, chart or helm. There they 
were, just as they were set in the sky in the morning of 
creation. The waters, that had washed from the earth 
every trace of man’s existence, had not quenched one of the 
“ lesser lights” of heaven, or moved it a hair from its place. 
The splendid Orion had not lost a jewel from his belt; 
neither the deluge nor the darkness had “ loosed his bands.” 
He walked the same king and wielded the same sceptre 
among the stars this evening, as in the first evening that 
mantled the earth. The fiery Betelguese shone with the 
same red brilliancy, and the sharp-eyed Rigel glowed 
in the left foot, a celestial diamond of the first water. 
There were the little Pleiades, and the great Dog-star, and 
the long Scorpion, trailing its gems along the southern sky ; 
and the Eleven Stars, that the young Joseph saw in his 
dream ; and the seven stars, which the first-born child of 
Adam saw in his infancy. These were home stars to Noah ; 
they were all that was left of the drowned world, that he 
had seen and loved in his youth. He knew not whither 

f 2 


102 AN EVENING WALK WITH THE CHILDREN. 

the sailless, unruddered ark had borne him ; the tallest 
mountain on the earth was buried deep beneath the waters ; 
everything had been swept away but the stars which he 
had learned by name, perhaps in the tent of his grandfather 
Methuselah, who remembered Adam. And he felt himself 
at home. 

Now, young friends, a deluge will never come again to 
bury out of sight this green, peopled world ; but storms 
will come, and winds will come, and you may drift far away 
from the home of your childhood. And what makes that 
home ? If all your relations and friends should go with 
you to far-off lands and live with you there, would you not 
have left behind a great deal of your home ? Yes; you 
could not take with you the old home-stead; the elms and 
the oaks under which you played ; the hills you climbed in 
summer to see the sun go down in the west, or in winter 
with your sleds ; the brook that purled through the mea¬ 
dows ; the mountains looming up in the distance like huge 
cushions of green velvet for the sky ; the fields of alternate 
green and yellow, and the far-off woods. But begin now 
to look up into this blue world above ; to make these star- 
fields a part of your home ; to bring these glorious constel¬ 
lations into the circle of your acquaintance; to call them 
by name ; to associate them with all the objects to which 
your home affections cling, and you may carry your home 
with you the world over. Orion, Arcturus, Bootes, Virgo, 
the celestial companions of Job, Noah and David, will be 
yours, in every place and every condition; acquaintances, 
neighbours to your paternal homes. It may be your lot to 
see but a little space of the earth’s surface ; and to know 
but little more of the geography of the earth than what 
you learn from your map. But here you may study the 
geography of the heavens and see every celestial territory 
it describes. Without going a mile from your father’s 
door, your eye may travel over worlds that arithmetic can¬ 
not compute nor geometry measure. l r our eyes can do 
this, and when you have reached the extreme limit of their 
vision, your thoughts may go on for ever into worlds be¬ 
yond. Young friends, suppose you spend a half hour every 
bright evening out in the open air in appropriating these 
brilliant constellations; in bringing them within the home- 
circle of your acquaintance. 


WOMAN AND WAR. 


103 


WOMAN AND WAR. 

The history of the human race, especially for the last 
eighteen centuries, has been a history of blood j to which 
woman, like a mistaken religion, has contributed as much 
as she has suffered in its sanguinary annals. The Roman 
amphitheatre and a pagan age were not the only place and 
period, where and when scenes of horrid butchery were en¬ 
acted for her entertainment. The trained gladiators, that 
without any personal animosity, cut each other to pieces in 
savage sport, and weltered and died in graceful contortions 
on the arena, were not the only victims selected from the 
human family to be imolated for her diversion. When 
Constantine abolished the arena, on its foundations arose 
another amphitheatre embracing the whole continent of 
Europe, where nations entered the lists, and kings, princes, 
and nobles fought for the guerdon of woman’s smile. It 
is an unpleasant fact in modern history, that her influence 
upon national character was first felt and perceptible in the 
field of battle. Her morning rays, like the rising sun of 
religion, lighted up the middle ages with the battle-torch, 
and inspired “ the big-plumed wars” with a ferocious en¬ 
thusiasm. It was more a rough impulse of chivalrous 
gallantry than a sentiment of Christian devotion, that 
deified the Virgin Mary, and enthroned her in the heavens, 
an impersonation of woman, retaining all the attributes 
of her sex, and whose favour was still accessible to her 
knighted admirers and champions on earth. Thus asso¬ 
ciated with divinity, she became to the warrior what Venus 
was to Eneas ; the star that guided him to the fields of 
Palestine, and sat on his banner in the rifts of battle, in 
the breaches of Askalon, Gaza, and Jerusalem. It was not 
merely to rescue the site of the cross from the uncircum¬ 
cised infidels of the East, that Europe poured forth her 
mailed myriads into the Holy Land. The divinity of those 
murderous wars in which millions fell, was a human divi¬ 
nity the genius of woman. Their feats and deeds of arms 
were inspired by the light of her eye, more than by the 
eloquence of Peter the Hermit; and her smile and favour 
were more to the steel-clad warrior than the crown pro¬ 
mised him in a future life. Had it not been for her pre¬ 
sence and approbation, the tilts and tournaments, and all 


104 THE BIBLE, OR THE 

the institutions of an errant chivalry, could never have 
been sustained in Europe, in the age in which they 
flourished. Had military glory and ambition borrowed no 
fascination from music and love and the fine arts : had not 
the gentlest attributes of human nature been unsexed, and 
the most generous impulses of humanity perverted, the 
war-spirit, long ere this, would have been exterminated, 
as a coarse, degrading passion, from the brotherhood of 
Christian nations. 


THE BIBLE ; OR, THE GUIDE-STAR OF HUMAN 

PROGRESS. 

There is no error more natural to good men, than that of 
mis-apprehending the condition of the age in which they 
live ; and basing their conduct upon precedents possessing 
no propriety of present application, unless the world be in a 
stationary attitude. This error, the offspring of an uncon¬ 
scious mistake, becomes one of serious consequences to 
mankind, when affecting the action of those set apart to 
increase their rate of moral progression. Among the im¬ 
perative and solemn duties devolving upon a minister of 
the gospel, there is none more evident and inevitable than 
that of leading his charge, by precept and example, into 
all truth ; of being ever in advance of an advancing 
society , in every good word and work. And this duty he 
cannot discharge without becoming deeply read in the 
philosophy of the gospel he preaches, and of the human 
mind to be affected by its light. 

As, in the structure and productive capacity of our 
globe, and the constitution of man, there was a consen¬ 
taneous provision for the continual propagation and suste¬ 
nance of the human family ; so all the revelations of nature 
and of the Bible have been, are, and will be made for man. 
in a progressive state. This state is the inevitable condition 
of his being; and every thing in heaven above or on the 
earth beneath, designed to facilitate his destiny, was 
created in as much conformity to this state of progression 
as the eye to the light and the light to the eye. The 
gospel you preach not only recognises this progressive ten- 



GUIDE-STAR OF HUMAN PROGRESS. 105 

deucy of humanity, "but, above all the revelations made to 
man, its principles were adapted to promote and perpetuate 
it to the end of time. It contains lessons of wisdom for 
the first man, in the very infancy of thought, and for the 
last man on earth, in all the immense capacity of his intel¬ 
lectual and moral nature. And when the race shall cease 
to inhabit this planet, the principles of the bible will not 
have been exhausted of their capacity to advance, to im¬ 
prove, to accelerate the moral progress of intellectual 
beings. It is the text-book of God given to humanity, 
with precepts apportioned to every age, to every condition, 
to every grade of human advancement. It had a lesson 
reduced to the comprehension of the unweaned intellect of 
Adam, embodying an element of improvement and progress ; 
it had another, in the geometrical series, for Noah and 
Abraham and Moses and David and Daniel.—And, for 
the first-born, for “ the least in the kingdom of heaven,” 
for the lowliest peasant that listened to the teachings of the 
Son of God, or was commissioned to carry them to the end 
of the world—it had another lesson, embodying the aggre¬ 
gate wisdom of all the lessons taught or learned in the pre¬ 
vious annals of mankind, superadded to that which, in the 
language of our Saviour, made the least in his kingdom of 
grace, greater than Solomon or Daniel. The era of the 
Gospel constituted an era in the history of humanity,—a 
point in its steady progression, where its subsequent ad¬ 
vancement was to be accelerated by the intense ratio of 
geometrical gradation. Absorbing all the indistinct and 
glimmering rays of previous revelation, it arose, in the 
murky firmament of the moral world, a sun, which has 
never set—never will set—never reach its meridian ; but 
which has shone on brighter and brighter from the hour 
that its morning beams saluted the lowly birth-place of its 
Eternal author, to this favoured day of its diffusive light. 

If then, by constitutional necessity, the human mind has 
ever been and ever must be in a state of progression ; and 
if the genius of the Gospel not only conforms, but most in¬ 
tensely conduces to that state—how then can any minister 
of that gospel, or any one walking by its light, living by 
its precepts, and breathing its spirit—how can such an one, 
I ask, stand in the same foot-prints that he occupied last 
year ? But, above all, how can he stand in the same 
position with regard to any moral question as that taken 


106 THE BIBLE, OR THE GUIDE-STAR OF HUMAN PROGRESS. 

by some remote predecessor of a former age ? With the 
increasing light of God’s word shining around his path of 
duty, must he go back into the starlight of the past for pre¬ 
cedents, or traditionary customs, to direct his course, and 
enlighten his convictions ? When called, as you are, to 
act in view of a new condition of society, and of new duties 
resulting therefrom, may he not lay his hand upon his 
Bible and say, A greater than Solomon or Daniel or 
Luther or Melancthon or Mather, is here ? In declining to 
make their example the rule of his conduct with regard to 
moral questions growing out of a new state of things, does 
he impeach their wisdom and piety ? Certainly not, any 
more than we question the learning and indefatigable in¬ 
dustry of Hipparchus, Ptolemy, and Tycho Brahe, when we 
even sweep away the basis of their theories. 


Charles Gilpin, Printer, 5, Bishcpsgate Street, London. 




PREFACE. 


Mr. Charles Gilpin, 

My dear Friend, 

I am highly gratified to learn, that the little 
volume, entitled “ Sparks from the Anvil,” has been 
so favourably received by the British Public, as to 
induce you to bring out another, of the same size, 
filled with similar selections from the productions of 
my pen from time to time. I accordingly send you 
a collection of miscellaneous pieces, embracing the 
first that I ever wrote for the public press. You are 
at liberty to choose from these such as you may deem 
most apposite for the volume you contemplate. As 
most of them were written before I had discontinued 
my daily connection with the forge, and, as I would 
gladly associate that connection with all I have done, 



IV 


PREFACE. 


or may do or be, in this life, I approve, with all my 
heart, of the title, “ Voice from the Forge,” which 
you have suggested for the new volume of selections 
which you propose to issue as a sequel to the “ Sparks 
from the Anvil.” 


London, April 1848 . 


Truly, yours, 

Elihu Burritt. 


CONTENTS 


The poor boy’s inheritance .... 

A SOFT WORD TO A NAVY CHAPLAIN 

The curse on land and labour .... 

Not the spirit of prayer. 

Another year .. 

Letter to an English clergyman 
Letter to an English clergyman 
-War and Christianity ..... 

The fulfilling of the law. 

The CHRISTIAN BUTCHERING CHRISTIAN 
On THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR 
Genius-making ... ... 

Effect of extraneous influences . 

The first American missionary 
Preservation of the social principle 
Circulation of matter ..... 

Love ; or, the force of gravity in the moral world 
Why i left the anvil . . 

A POINT OF 8PACE - . 

Agents or elements, etc. 

Hanging or dissecting .... 

The influence of the drunkard 
The Samaritan mirror .... 

Buying a brother from bondage . 


• ♦ 


• • 


PAGE 


. 1 

3 

. 6 
10 
. 14 

18 

. 26 
30 
. 31 
33 
. 35 
44 
. 47 
50 
. 52 

55 
. 57 
59 
. 64 
65 
. 73 
75 
. 77 
85 




VI 


CONTENTS. 


TO THE STEAMER “ HIBERNIA *' 

IS HE MY BROTHER? . 

The spirit of christ in extreme cases 
The only source of true moral power 
Pulling down the old church 
Bible heroes and biography 
Sunday-school celebration in Brooklyn 
The comet ...... 

The world is governed too much 
Anti-slavery league of the world 
Circulation of rum and slavery 
Icelandic slavery .... 

The fourth of july . . . 

The light of knowledge . . . 

Capital punishment . . 

Moral suasion. 

- Natural provisions for peace • 
Lead us not into temptation • « 


4 * 




PAGE 
. 86 
87 

. 88 
89 
. 90 
92 
. 94 
98 

. 100 
103 
. 108 
110 
. 114 
116 
. 117 
119 
. 122 
127 



VOICE FROM THE EORGE. 


THE POOR BOY’S INHERITANCE. 

A world of knowledge has been prepared for the inheri¬ 
tance of every young man of this age and country. It is a 
legacy that received its first contributions beyond the Deluge, 
and, at every stage of its transmission, it has absorbed 
the wealth of mighty intellects. And this inheritance 
awaits your acceptance ; its appropriation is rendered easy 
by facilities never equalled in any other period of the world. 
It is accessible without wading through a tedious medium 
of abstract learning : you have no new language to acquire 
in order to possess yourself of the treasure. Let us esti¬ 
mate partially this last advantage, for it is one that renders 
learning and knowledge synonymous; which would not be 
the case if you were obliged, for a long season, to learn 
before you could begin to know . Now it is very possible 
for a man to be a very indefatigable student all the days of 
his life, and not come to the knowledge of any new truth 
for years. For instance, suppose, at your age, I had read 
the Bible through in the English language very attentively, 
and that the next year I had read it through in Latin, and the 

B 



9 


THE POOR BOY’S INHERITANCE. 


third in another language, until, at the end of seventy years, 
I had read it in fifty different languages. It would have 
cost me a long life of hard study, certainly, and I might 
have been considered a man of learning , even if I had 
read no other book : but could I pretend that all this 
learning added anything essential to my stock of know¬ 
ledge? If I spend my entire life in contemplating the 
same set of facts, through fifty differently tinted mediums, 
should I arrive at any new truths? No; the knowledge 
which I should thus gain would be confined to colour not 
substance. 

The English language puts you in direct communication 
with all the facts of history, with every department of 
science, and all the principles of philosophy. It gives you 
an immediate access to all the literature and learning of 
the world; to the great minds that have enriched the annals 
of the race ; to everything beautiful or sublime in thought, 
word, or deed. You need not wade through Latin or 
Greek to get at these treasures of knowledge, for they have 
all been Anglicised to your hand. Should you devote ten 
years of close study to either or both of those languages, 
you would find a field that had been reaped and gleaned, and 
transferred to that of vour own native tongue. You may sit 
down to Homer’s Iliad, on a winter’s evening, without ever 
having seen the Greek alphabet, and feast upon its lofty 
conceptions, and get as near to the author’s mind as if he 
were an English poet. All that Virgil said or sung you 
can read and comprehend in the evenings of one week, 
without conjugating a Latin verb. Whereas, on the other 
hand, to acquire the same knowledge of those immortal 
authors in their own language, would cost you three years 
of laborious study. 

The field then is ready, and you can enter it at once. 
The primer in which you learned the English alphabet will 


A SOFT WORD TO A NAVY CHAPLAIN. 


3 


unlock its treasures and put you in possession of them. 
And, with a little economy, you will find time to enter that 
field ; for it is open morning, noon, and night. Let it be 
the resort of your leisure moments, those odd fragments of 
time that intervene between labour and repose. 


A SOFT WORD TO A NAVY CHAPLAIN. 
Reverend Sir, 

You profess to be a minister of Jesus Christ, and to 
teach that ‘‘unless a man hath the spirit of Christ, he is 
none of his.” You probably admit, that the illustration of 
the vine, which the Son of God employed in his farewell 
address to his disciples, was not hyperbolical, but specifi¬ 
cally expressive of the relation which every true follower of 
his must sustain to him. To be a Christian, you admit, 
the human heart must be grafted into the heart of Christ, 
and receive from it the vital fluid of its spiritual life. You 
say, while that heart sustains this vital relation, its fruits, 
its sentiments, and the actions which express them, will be 
fruits, not of the spirit of the natural heart, but of the 
spirit which is in Christ: and that the more Christian an 
act shall be, the more of the spirit of Christ will be in it. 
In speaking of diamonds, we express their value by saying 
they are of such and such water . In speaking of actions 
of Christian duty, jew r els that are to stud the diadem of a 
God, we may express their quality analytically by saying, 
they are of such and such a spirit: that is, in the ore of 
grosser motives, are contained, as it were, so many grains 

b 2 



4 


A SOFT WORD TO A NAVY CHAPLAIN. 


of the spirit of Christ. Now, then, let me tenderly entreat 
you to analyze the qualities of your calling, as Chaplain in 
the Navy; to investigate the nature of your engagements 
to a human government. 

Professed minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, were 
you ever present at a naval battle ? If so, let me ask you, 
in all sober honesty, was that scene ever outdone by any 
spectacle ever enacted on the red, burning pavement of 
hell ? Among the painedest fiends of the pit, fallen farthest 
from the presence of God, and the reach of hope, were 
there ever the exercise and exhibition of more diabolical 
malignity and frenzied ferocity, than burn and bellow in 
that raging hell on the sea, a naval battle? And you, 
without a question or a scruple—with the sandals of the 
Gospel of Peace professedly bound to your feet—are to 
stand, in the glare of the lighted match, and, as it were, 
knee-deep in the ready brimstone, and stayed up by 
butchering-irons, and with one girded to your side, you are 
to open the awful scene by spreading your hands towards 
heaven, and praying that the spirit of the blessed God of 
love would descend to render more intense the flames of 
that hell which human hearts and hands are about to 
kindle for mutual destruction! You are to draw near 
to the great white throne of God’s mercy on one side, and 
your fellow minister, of another nation, on the other, and 
both laying at once your blood-invoking hands on the 
spotless robes of Christ’s righteousness, implore his pre¬ 
sence amid the howling tempest of fire and smoke, and the 
hotter torrents of fiendish malice; amid the red lava of a 
thousand iron volcanoes and maddened hearts ; amid the 
steamy atmosphere of human blood, spouting in hissing 
currents into the sea! And now, my dear friend, let me 
take you by the hand and look steadfastly into your heart’s 
eye, while I ask—What if God should take you both at 


A SOFT WORD TO A NAVY CHAPLAIN. 


5 


your word! What if lie should grant your prayer and 

descend into the affray, invested with all the Godhead of 

his attributes—his love ! You invoked him, a spirit, to 

descend and cover the heads of the combatants. Suppose 

he should come in spirit, in the spirit of Christ; and, in 

the fulness of that spirit, should enter every heart; so that 

every officer and private should be made instantaneously as 

near like Christ as a mortal can be : would not every 

murderous weapon fall from the hands of those dark-looking 

sailors and marines, and they fall upon their knees, and 

upon each other’s necks, and give glory to God, that he, in 

answer to your prayers, had descended, as at the attempted 

sacrifice of Isaac, and arrested their design and work of 

mutual butcherv ? And is this the aim and end for which 
«/ 

you are pledged, and paid beforehand, to pray for the pre¬ 
sence of God in any battle your nation may wage ? Rest 
assured, they would drive you from the war-ship’s deck, 
on the eve of action, if they believed there were the 
remotest possibility that God would hear your prayer, and 
be present to fill the combatants, for whom you prayed, 
with the spirit of Christ. Be not deceived; God is not 
mocked, nor will he mock you. If, in any of the emer¬ 
gencies of human life and duty, he comes at the cry of 
supplication, he will come as a God, and the manifestation 
of his spirit and presence will produce in the human heart 
“the same spirit which was also in Christ”—“in whom 
dwelt the fulness of the Godhead bodily;” and who 
imparts of that fulness, grace for grace, to every one 
whose heart is open for its reception. To ask the presence 
of God in any other spirit, is to ask him to stifle the 
elements of his existence, or to assume those of a demon. 
If, then, you do not wish to have the spirit of Christ, the 
spirit which breathed forth in his dying prayer on the 
cross, to pervade the hearts of the human butchers at the 


6 


THE CURSE ON LAND AND LABOUR. 


onset of battle, then I beseech you—as you would avoid a 
blasphemy which would make the fallenmost devil tremble 

_I beseech you never to raise heavenward your eyes and 

voice to invoke the presence of a God on the field of 
carnage, or the war-ship’s slippery deck ; but to direct 
your eyes downward, and pray that your paid men of blood 
mav be inspired with all the fury that burns in the bottom 
less pit, to fight as near like fiends as the father of all 
murderers can make them. 


THE CURSE ON LAND AND LABOUR. 

There is a complaint involved in a vague impression that 
God has cursed the earth , your field of labour. Let us 
investigate this charge a moment. My dear sir, your 
Maker bids you put your finger upon that curse, and 
establish its paternity. For the long, gloomy annals of 
humanity furnish a world of irresistible evidence that man 
possesses an infinite capacity to curse himself with every 
form of sin, misery, and degradation. On the strength of 
this evidence, I here arraign him before you and the world, 
for having cursed the earthy too, with all the burning leprosy 
that has blotched its face from creation down, and then 
charged that curse upon his Maker. And, I trust, a short 
examination will make him plead guilty of this aggravated 
insolence. First, let us hear what he has to say for him¬ 
self. The Creator asks you, what more he could have 
done for your physical comfort than he has done, is doing, 
and has promised to do, for that object ? He invites you 
to analyze the solar system and the human system, and 
discover any defect in his physical laws; any instance 
where a new principle might be introduced, which would 



THE CURSE ON LAND AND LABOUR. 


7 


enhance the perfection of either of those systems. Examine 
the machinery of the globe. See if it were centered at any 
other point, more of its surface would enjoy a more vertical 
sun. See if you could suggest an amendment to the laws 
ot its motions, which would give a better variety of seasons 
to the whole human family, and vivify the earth with more 
genial dispensations of light and shade, cold and heat. 
Call in the anatomist, to help you examine your own 
physical system. And if you can show, by demonstration, 
that a new sense, or a new disposition of your present 
organs of sense, would render your physical enjoyment 
more varied and exquisite, then the absence of that pro¬ 
vision shall be admitted as evidence to establish the charge 
you have preferred against your Maker. But you shall 
not be confined to testimony so difficult of acquisition. If 
you can show that a single grain of wheat sown by man, 
ever brought forth a thistle or thorn, then I will give up 
the argument. To be sure, the quantity of grain sufficient 
to satisfy the labourer for a single meal, contains alcohol 
enough to make him beastly drunk; but if ever a labourer 
was intoxicated by that grain when made into bread, then 
I will own that God has directly and unconditionally 
cursed the earth. 

But he said, that it should bring forth thorns and 
thistles to men. Glorious truth! In that declaration were 
embraced the high reward of industry, and the Cain-mark 
curse of indolence. It announced a provision of infinite 
grace and wisdom, to make the pleasures of sense and life 
the reward of activity and labour. Thorns and thistles 
have ever grown in rank profusion; but always upon the 
grave of labour; never, never beneath her feet. They 
have been, and ever will be, the spontaneous harvest of 
indolence , the evidence of inaction, and the absence of 
labour. Two centuries ago, they spread in bristling ranks 


8 


THE CURSE ON LAND AND LABOUR. 


and tangled thickets over the whole wilderness of America 
and now this world of Eden fertility is a perennial trophy 
of labour , which has made, or will make, that wilderness 
blossom as the rose. 

’Tis true, thorns and thistles have not been confined to 
the uncivilised solitudes of barbarism; they have grown 
rankest over all the blood-seethed fields of battle. They 
are the only crop which any soil enriched by human blood 
will yield. They spring up where the soldier treads, and 
thrive beneath the sword and bayonet; but they wither at 
the labourer’s breath, and die beneath the mattock and the 
spade. On every scene of desolation by human violence, 
they have raised their rough crests to testify that man has 
cursed the ground as well as himself. Select the choicest 
gardens of Europe, that have been reduced to haggard 
sterility, and hold an inquest over the incumbent curse. 
See if it is because the heavens over that once-favoured 
region have become brass, and withheld the light, heat, 
rain, and dew, that thorns and briers have supplanted the 
rose. See if you can trace back this curse, or any other 
that rests upon humanity, to any other source than the 
heart of man. “Whence come wars and fightings?” was 
a question asked and answered eighteen hundred years ago. 
If that inspired answer is not satisfactory,—whence come 
they ? let us ask again. Are they the constitutional 
instincts of human nature, and rendered inevitable by the 
physical laws of humanity ? Were the hostile hosts that 
met at Marathon and Waterloo drawn into deadly collision 
by gravitation? Were the 14,000,000,000 of human beings 
that have perished in war, jostled into that bloody fate by 
the revolutions of the globe? No! the earth that drank 
their blood appeals to God that man has cursed every¬ 
thing he touched; cursed the land and sea; cursed the 
iron, gold, and silver; cursed his own labour; and all the 


the curse on land and labour. ?) 

productions of the soil; cursed his own heart, his affec¬ 
tions, and appetites. He was made upright, but he has 
sought out many inventions, indeed. Sin, misery, slavery, 
war, want, and indolence are all his inventions; and 
they have cost him labour, too. Watch him w r hile 
inventing a new curse. See how much ingenuity he 
displays in converting some nutritious production into a 
liquid poison for himself and his neighbour! For years 
he has been scheming to gratify the new passions that he 
has kindled in his bosom. His plans have come to an 
issue; and now his bark is crossing to the African shore, 
laden with articles that will pander to the appetites of the 
slave-trappers of that unhappy continent. He plies the 
sable aborigines with intoxicating liquors, till their dark 
natures burn with passions foreign to the brutes. He 
exchanges the deadly drug and varied instruments of 
death for the bone of their bone, and flesh of their flesh. 
He fills his empty manacles with human limbs and souls. 
See him lead out that broken-hearted band to the cane-field 
of St. Domingo. What a wild, vacant look of despair is 
fixed in their tearless eyes, as they bow to their bondage! 
Watch their strokes while the iron is corroding in their 
hearts. No hope of reward strings a nerve ; the blistering 
drops that fall from their sable cheeks are like drops of 
blood; they earn no bread ; they purchase no prospect of 
redemption. See how that proud man has cursed labour. 

He now tasks his ingenuity to curse the products of that 
labour and soil. It costs him but little labour and skill to 
extract what is nutritious in his harvest of cane : but he 
cannot stop here; he must convert it into poison. Ma¬ 
chinery, of an infernal model, is applied to the process. 
See the complex apparatus invented to change the nature 
of that innocent cane-juice! What foaming, seething, 
hissing and throbbing through the snaky convolutions of 

b 3 


10 


NOT THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER. 


the still-worm, before that nutritious liquid is conjured into 
poison! What a distance between rum and sugar has to 
be overcome by this ingenuity! But he has done the 
work; he has effected his double curse, and his last 
act is to disseminate it among his fellow-beings at a 
distance. 


NOT THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER. 

“ Wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven, and 
consume them, as Elias did ? ”—Luke ix. 54. 

No doubt these two disciples of Jesus felt that they had 
just cause of righteous indignation towards the inhospitable 
Samaritans. The terms they employed to express that 
feeling are full of intense and varied significancy, and 
breathed a spirit perfectly intelligible to him who knew 
what was in man. Every word in the sentence has a 
peculiar meaning and force, which must be properly weighed 
before the whole strength of the proposition can be esti¬ 
mated. Out of the abundance of their hearts, their lips 
gave involuntary utterance to a spirit which the Christian 
frequently finds stirring within him under the pressure of 
some sudden temptation ; a spirit, the source and character 
of which, he is as liable to misapprehend as the two dis¬ 
ciples in question. To their Divine Master the state of 
their feelings w r as perfectly intelligible, though not to 
themselves; and he modified his rebuke with the chari¬ 
table allowance —** Ye know not what manner of spirit 
ye arc of” Of all the spirits we are recommended to try 
by the standard of the gospel, the one under consideration 
deserves the most unsparing examination; for there is no 



NOT THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER. 


11 


one that can more seriously affect our communication 
and communion with God, and our conduct to our 
fellow-men. 

Let us briefly advert to the circumstances under which 
James and John were tempted to give utterance to a sen¬ 
timent which met such a tender and earnest rebuke, and 
endeavour to ascertain “what manner of spirit they were 
of,” which our Saviour merely suggests in comparing it 
with his own. 

These two disciples had always been distinguished among 
the twelve by their Lord and Master. They had been 
chosen, with Peter, as his select companions, to attend 
him at moments of sublime revelation, when the Eternal 
Father communed with his Incarnate Son, and the opening 
heavens attested his power and Godhead. Standing at 
the head of his little band of followers, they were entrusted 
with the most important commissions, and received such 
special tokens of favour and confidence as to excite in their 
brethren a feeling of uneasy emulation, until the question 
was sometimes indulged by the way, " which of them 
should he greatest” They had just returned from a 
missionary tour through Judea, during which they had 
preached the gospel and done many mighty works by the 
power and authority of their Master. Their mission had 
been one of mercy. They had stood at the bed-side of the 
sick and dying, and, in answer to their prayers, life, and 
health, and joy had returned to the fainting, sorrowing 
heart. Everywhere the poor and grateful populace had 
crowded around them, and “the blessing of him that was 
ready to perish” had followed them. The dumb had 
employed the first accents of returning speech to bless 
them and their God. Tlie eyes of the blind they had seen 
swimming with tears of gratitude, as they opened to the 
sight of day, the faces of friends, and the bright world around. 


12 


NOT THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER. 


The lunatic, as the first rajs of returning reason broke in 
upon his distempered mind, had followed them to teii the 
joy and gladness and gratitude swelling his bosom at his 
sudden deliverance from the demons that had tormented 
him. They went forth upon their mission filled v> r ith the 
spirit of their Master, of love for their fellow-beings, the 
spirit of prayer. And they had returned to him, overjoyed 
at the success of their ministry, and recounted all the won¬ 
derful works they had done in his name. But, among all 
the miracles they had wrought, they had never invoked a 
manifestation of the Divine power to the injury of a single 
human being. That power came not by prayer or fasting, 
when coveted for such a purpose. It w r as accessible tc 
heal , but not to kill —to carry life, and hope, and joy into 
the house of mourning and the bereaved heart, but not to 
accompany a malediction, gratify a resentment, or avenge 
an injury. They were put in communication with the 
throne and omnipotence of God only by the spirit of their 
Divine Master, the only spirit that can carry a prayer to 
the mercy seat, or bring back an answer of peace. 

On an occasion that rendered the lesson more impressive, 
they were taught this important truth. Journeying on 
toward Jerusalem, to finish the great work of redemption, 
the Saviour had sent messengers to prepare for his recep¬ 
tion in a Samaritan village. But such was the state of 
feeling existing between the Samaritans and Jews, that all 
friendly intercourse had been interdicted. The deep-seated 
rancour of religious hatred had made them more than 
common enemies. The inhabitants of this village, there¬ 
fore, refused to entertain Jesus and his followers, because 
his face w f as as though he w r ould go to Jerusalem.” A 
feeling deeper and stronger than indignation was imme¬ 
diately aroused in the bosoms of James and John, who 
were somewhat characterised by their impetuous zeal. 


NOT THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER. 


13 


On the first impulse of their resentment, they conceived 
that the supernatural power which had been conferred 
upon them during their recent mission, was still at their 
command, and they longed to exhaust it upon the heads 
of the Samaritans in a judgment that would consume 
them. Eager to resent the indignity olfered their Master, 
“ who, when he was reviled, reviled not again,” they said, 
“ Lord, wilt thou that we command fire to come down 
from heaven, and consume them, as Elias did ?” 

The sentiments condensed into this impetuous question 
are strongly marked and distinct. In the first place, they 
knew that their Lord would neither rebuke nor resent this 
act of inhospitality and unkindness on the part of the 
Samaritans, and they desired to interfere themselves to 
prevent their escape. “ Wilt thou that we command fire,” 
they asked; as if he would sanction in a disciple what 
would be inconsistent with the character of his master, and 
thus authorise an act of revenge. And they would com¬ 
mand the devouring element to descend. Had they been 
about to invoke the interposition of God in behalf of some 
dying fellow-being, they would have employed a term more 
expressive of prayer. They spoke as if the thunderbolt 
was already poising in their hands, ready to be hurled upon 
the heads of the odious Samaritans. As their incensed 
eyes met those of the meek and lowly Jesus,—which, even 
on the cross, beamed with love on his enemies,—we can 
conceive that they added, “ As Elias did” appealing to 
the example of that ancient man of God to sanction the 
sentiment they had uttered. But a greater than Elias was 
there ; one, with whom such a precedent could not plead in 
justification of a feeling of revenge; one, behind whose 
example the Christian might never go for precedents to 
sanction the indulgence of hatred or anger towards a 
fellow-being. 


14 


ANOTHER YEAR. 


“Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of,” was 
the mild reply of their heavenly master, not only to them, 
but to all his disciples, in every subsequent age, who 
should be tempted to indulge the feelings that were aroused 
in James and John, at the ungenerous treatment received 
from their “natural enemies.” Although, like the two 
disciples, we may not know precisely what manner of 
spirit was moving on in their hearts, we are assured by 
him who knew every lineament of its character and origin, 
that it was not the spirit of Christ, without which we 
cannot be his, nor have any medium of communion with 
God. It was not the spirit of prayer ) though they con¬ 
ceived it was that of Elias. It was a spirit th^t never 
gained an admission into heaven, or breathed on the throne 
of grace. It was a fallen and falling spirit, with which the 
spirit of God could have no communion. It was a burning 

o 

exhalation of anger which, in speeding to its source, could 
not soar upward. 


ANOTHER YEAR. 

The wheel of time has drawn out another link in the 
great chain of eternity, and craned up the race to a new 
stand-point in their destiny, between a new past and a new 
future. They have accomplished another term in that 
series of geometrical progression established by laws that 
were enacted before the creation of man or matter. They 
have reached a point in their ascending continuity where 
their ratio of progression is one of intense result. The 
measure of their next gradation will be the sum of all the 
six thousand terms of the series through which they have 



ANOTHER YEAR. 


15 


passed. In their existence, the close of* a year is not an 
end, but a beginning, an accretion of life ; although it 
terminates the physical connection of millions of human 
beings with the race. 

Dear reader, the close and commencement of another 
year must suggest reflections full of deep and solemn in¬ 
terest to us as individuals. Standing, with one foot on the 
threshold of eternity, and the other upon the green grave 
of the past, it would be well to let the mind dwell upon 
those reflections ; to set apart a season of sober communion 
with the realities of our mortality, the inevitable conditions 
of this state of being. Let the evidence that we are passing 
away, that this sweet habit of existence is but a transient 
vapour, come home to our hearts with all the force of the 
affecting lesson, to admonish us to do quickly with our 
might what our hands find to do. But while we stand 
weeping as it were by the graves of those we loved, and the 
affecting mementoes of our own dissolution are clustering 
around us, let us remember, that if men were not mortal, 
Man would die. Death is merely the respiration of Hu¬ 
manity, the most vital function of its great organ of life; 
and just as necessary to its healthy development as the 
renovation of matter in the human system. Sickness, 
dying, and death , are terms confined to individual particles 
of the great body of corporate humanity ; to that body, as 
a whole, they have a significancy full of life. Let us con¬ 
template their import in relation to that vast system. 

Suppose the human body were divided into as many 
parts as there are persons in the human family, or into 
eight hundred millions of particles; and each of those 
particles would bear the same proportion and relation to 
that body, as that sustained by a person to the whole body 
of humanity. Now it is absolutely necessary for the sus¬ 
tenance of life, that the entire matter of the human body 


16 


ANOTHER YEAR. 


be changed for* new, once in seven years. All of those 
eight hundred millions of particles must be deposed during 
that period, and their place supplied with others. Every 
pulsation of the heart displaces thousands of them.—To 
them, individually, every throb of life in the system must 
be a death-blow; hundreds of them must expire at every 
breath of the slumbering infant. Suppose, then, that every 
one of these particles were a little man , which, though im¬ 
perceptible to the naked eye, had a heart to feel, an eye to 
see, an ear to hear, a tongue to speak, and a pen to write. 
What curious sermons, and New-Year’s addresses, and 
grave editorials, would they put forth upon the uncertainty 
of their life and the cause of their mortality!.. What 
funeral terms they would employ to express the action and 
effect of the vital functions of the system. The viscera 
would be, in their language, ten million hearses bearing 
their fellow-beings to the grave-yard of the world. The 
digestive organs would be the same number of grave¬ 
diggers, each with his spade in his hand. Breathing 
would be dying , and every drop of perspiration a deluge . 
What tender and touching partings, what weeping friends 
and death-bed scenes, would follow every pulsation of the 
heart! 

Now, reader, you and we are but two of the eight hun¬ 
dred millions of particles which constitute the body corpo¬ 
rate of Humanity ; and the vital functions of that body by 
which we are deposed or displaced, to give room for new 
and more vigorous elements of life, are death to us; we, 
sorrowful and sentient particles, define the action of those 
functions in terms expressive of disease and dissolution. 
Every pulsation of the heart of Humanity, which fills its 
innumerable veins with new life, is to us a death-blow to 
millions of these constituent particles, or persons. Its 
breathing is dying, and its perspiration a deluge, which 


another year. 


17 


sweep away, once in seventy years, all the old matter of 
Humanity. Having the advantage over the short-lived 
particles of our own bodies, in the matter of speech, vision, 
chirography, &c., we complain of this great system of life, 
and charge it with having brought death into the world. 
Now, this comes from parts of a whole considering a whole 
in parts; or, in other words, from looking at God, the 
world, and Humanity through a goose-quill. If we expand 
our vision so as to compass the whole, we shall see, as 
clearly as any demonstration can make it, that it is just 
as necessary for the physical, moral, and intellectual de¬ 
velopment of Humanity, that it should depose all its old 
matter and be entirely renovated once in seventy years, as 
it is that the human body should do the same once in 
seven. The very life of both these systems depends upon 
this process of renovation. How long could we live if our 
food should make no new blood, and our bodies depose no 
old matter ? How long would Humanity have existed with* 
out this process of renovation, this circulation or deposition 
of matter ? Suppose it had gone on accumulating to this 
day, and never have deposed a particle, that is, a person, 
the solid globe would have been to-day one entire mass of 
human flesh. The particles of our bodies, then, have just 
as good reason to ascribe our digestion, and respiration, and 
the healthiest functions of our system, to “the original sin,” 
as we have to ascribe our dissolution to the same cause. 
Not a particle of our bodies is deposed until it has contri¬ 
buted all its virtue to the system, and becomes worse than 
superfluous. If we do our duty as well to Humanity, we 
shall not be deposed until we have given it all of our life 
and soul. 


18 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 

Rev. and Dear Sir, 

There is one family circle in the universe, which, though 
old as eternity, recognises no relations more distant than 
those of Father , sons and brethren . In this circle neither 
time, nor distance, nor colour, language nor nation, nor any 
adventitious circumstance of humanity, creates any distinc¬ 
tion. Our Father and our God has no members in hig 
family of remoter consanguinity than children; and why, 
among those who address him with Abba , Father , should 
there be any reluctance to acknowledge that we are brethren? 
Brethren confirmed in that relation by all that God has 
done for us in the work of creation and redemption; by 
all that devolves upon us to do for his glory and the good 
of our fellow-beings. These, my good sir, are all the cre¬ 
dentials I am able to present, in thus abruptly introducing 
myself upon your notice. Will you permit a stranger, 
separated from you by an intervening ocean, to the privi¬ 
leges of this comprehensive fraternity, and permit him to 
call you brother, brother in Christ, in the hopes of im¬ 
mortality, and in the immortality of good works for the 
amelioration of humanity ? In that relation, permit me to 
greet you, as an American who feels that the Christians of 
the two great Anglo-Saxon nations have been elected as 
kings and priests unto God, to co-work with him in restor¬ 
ing the benighted race of man to a better destiny. How 
happy, that, in this blessed field of action, they may leave 
their eagles and lions at home, and meet, and march, and 
conquer under the standard of Emanuel! How plea¬ 
sant that our obstinate nationalities may be melted down 
into Christian unity, and our patriotism expand into phi¬ 
lanthropy, while uniting to extend the kingdom of our 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


19 


Redeemer, and rescue millions from the bondage of sin and 
the yoke of slavery. 

It would seem that the whole pagan world, and all the 
dark regions of cruelty and oppression, had been assigned 
to British and American Christians, not only as a field of 
labour , but a field of union : where the lofty affinities of the 
Anglo-Saxon genius and blood may co-operate with their 
more exalted and intimate relations by the blood of the 
Lamb, to unite them in bonds of brotherhood more indis¬ 
soluble than the common ties of nature. And, for one, I 
rejoice that the providence and gospel of God are bringing 
all these influences to bear, like mutual attraction, upon 
our two great nations j and that we are now nearer together 
than at any other period since we have had a separate 
existence. 

I am as much of an American as any man this side of 
the Atlantic; yet I fear no charge of treason when I say 
that our Declaration of Independence severed the weakest 
tie that bound us to our mother-land, when it dissolved our 
political connection. It merely broke a chain of iron , to 
be replaced with bonds of finer texture and more immortal 
strength. In labouring for the extension of our Redeemer’s 
kingdom, and the rescue of fallen man from the tyranny of 
sin and human bondage, we wish no American nationality; 
we would hang out no stars and stripes or national emblem. 
For the Captain of our salvation has unfurled his banner of 
love, the great banner of God, which has floated, coeval 
with his existence, over the pavilion of his Eternal Throne. 
Let that banner float over our nations as a heavenly signal 
of perpetual union : for, indeed, they seem in the very act 
of physical approximation. The elements have been so 
suborned and subjugated by mechanical science, that the 
Atlantic has been reduced to a river, and our countries are 
mooring side by side. Let their subjects and citizens do 


20 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


the same. Let the spirit of the gospel and the gravitation 
of a common blood, do to our hearts what steam and 
gigantic machinery have done to our respective shores? 
abolish the intervening distance. 

For myself, I feel like one approaching my native land, 
with a favouring wind and tide. While the ship is heating 
up to an anchorage, I see the shores lined with friends 
waiting to welcome us to a paternal home. I look among 
their ranks for some blood-relation to my own soul; some 
one to whom I may cast a line and moor me to. And, my 
dear sir, I have detected a family resemblance in the fea¬ 
tures of your great heart, which prompts me to give you 
my hand and call you brother. Metaphor aside, I have 
long believed that it would brighten up the condition and 
prospects of humanity, if every intelligent Christian in 
America should attach himself to some English brother, 
through the medium of a free, fraternal correspondence. I 
am persuaded that every friendly letter thus interchanged, 
like a weaver’s shuttle, would not only serve to weave 
together two kindred hearts, but two kindred countries, t 
long to see them thus interwoven by those invisible cords 
which no hostile policy or legislation can ever sever. 

Under the influence of this sentiment, my mind has 
disembarked on the British shore, and would fain attach 
to some English heart, and some square foot of English 
soil to one of that on which I tread. I should esteem it a 
high privilege to have some one beyond the Atlantic, whom 
I might ask, “Watchman, what of the night?” What 
beams of a new morning kindle hope in your sky ? What 
new rainbow of promise adds a new diadem to the Queen 
of the Seas ? God bless old England ! and let all the 
nations that “ have felt her mercy too,” say Amen ! Let 
the millions she has emancipated from the dark prison- 
house of bondage, and all the millions that hope to be free. 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


21 


say, Amen! Let the millions of bondmen in my own dear 
native land, whenever their shackles fall, lift their free hands 
to heaven and say : God bless old England ! and all her 
children say. Amen! Let all nations bless her ! for her 
Wilberforces, Clarksons, and Cowpers, have taught the world 
some lessons in human freedom which democracy never 
learned. But, my dear sir, those lessons are coming to be 
the classics of our common school education. Their prin¬ 
ciples are beginning to mingle with our moral atmosphere; 
and when our free States have thoroughly imbibed them, 
the breath of slavery will come up like a fetid and poison¬ 
ous miasma from the desert. 

The progress of these principles in this country is 
assuming a character and direction that are viewed with 
lively emotion by both our two great political parties. At 
first, the anti-slavery movement was regarded as a transient 
ebullition of fanaticism ; and its agents and abettors ranked 
with the inmates of the mad-house, or charged with a 
ferocious hallucination. Old Faneuil Hall, the cradle of 
American liberty, was deemed too sacred a place to listen 
to their visionary principles of freedom, and its doors 
closed against men who asserted that God had made no 
exception to the disadvantage of colour in the Magna 
Charta of humanity. A few years have rolled on, and 
that derided ebullition of fanaticism has become the ebul¬ 
lition of a Niagara. The swelling current gives out a 
portentous sound, which is heard from Maine to Mississippi. 
The iron foundations of prejudice are moved; the ocean 
depths of suppressed sentiments and struggling opinions 
are breaking up ; an issue of startling interest is pendent 
in the half visible future. The year 1844, I am persuaded, 
will be remembered as one of the uncommon years of this 
republic. Our two great political parties are marshalling 
their principles and forces for a presidential election; and 


22 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


each is viewing with apprehension the one-starred banner 
of liberty, floating by itself in the field. 

New principles, though old as humanity, will enter the 
lists. The prerogative of political suffrage will seek to 
compass higher ends than those of the selfish demagogue 
and heated partisan. It will hang out a beacon of hope to 
the slave, and determine the question, whether, at this late 
age of the world, a slaveholder can be elected to the pre¬ 
sidency of this republic. The influences marshalled against 
the cause are infinitely numerous, and have brought the 
different classes of our community into an apparent attitude 
of hostility to the anti-slavery movement, from different 
motives, or other causes. A strong, dogged, blear-eyed 
prejudice is, of itself, one of the least formidable of the 
obstacles we have to encounter. Strong as it is, it is a 
mere mole-hill compared with an old, hereditary logic, a 
process of fictitious reasoning, that has come down through 
all the dark ages of error. And it is remarkable how me¬ 
chanically the best and wisest men of our country, em¬ 
bracing ministers of the gospel, statesmen, editors et al , 
adopt this vulgar course of argument. Let me give you a 
few specimens of this reasoning. 

Nearly all the Northern Churches, of all evangelical 
denominations, extend the hand of Christian fellowship to 
slaveholding professors, and open their pulpits to slave¬ 
holding ministers, while they disclaim all fellowship with 
slavery. For this they advance the specious reason, that 
the piety of those slaveholding individuals is beyond sus¬ 
picion, and entitles them to our Christian charity and 
communion : that they treat their slaves tenderly, as their 
own children;—that the relation is one of affection and 
love, as well as mutual interest and legal right; and, also, 
that they have no legal right to dissolve that relation, 
except by a sale of those slaves to a harder master. This 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 23 

reasoning is extremely popular and cogent, when almost 
every Christian in New England has repudiated it when 
applied to a similar subject. Most of our churches debar 
the rum-selling professor from Christian communion, not so 
much from the direct injury that he inflicts personally upon 
his neighbour, as from the influence of his example in 
sanctioning the traffic. The evidences of his piety are not 
received in extenuation but aggravation of his conduct; for 
the more eminent and undoubted they are, the more dan¬ 
gerous they become to the cause of temperance and 
Christianity. There is not a consistent Christian in the 
free States of America, who does not believe that a rum¬ 
selling pagan would do more to sustain the use and traffic 
of intoxicating liquors, than 10,000 rum-selling infidels. 
The extenuating argument of piety has been exploded in 
this case, but in that of slavery it remains in its full force. 
The slaveholding professors are admitted to our Christian 
communion virtually because they do to the system of 
slavery just exactly what ten righteous men would have 
done to Sodom and Gomorrah, could they have been found 
in those cities of the plain. Magnificent logic ! 

Another of these floating, anomalous arguments is, that 
we have no right to interfere with the domestic institutions 
of the South ; that we are thus undermining the founda¬ 
tions of their society, and plotting their ruin. To be sure, 
this impression is of a southern cast; but it infects 
thousands in the free States with the idea, that there is 
a lurking malevolence in the abolitionists towards our 
southern brethren; that they wish to impoverish and 
humble them ; to break up their plantations and diminish 
their staple productions. This position is more unfair 
and unfounded than the other. If, sir, you could sail 
down the river that divides between Kentucky and Ohio, 
and should ask an abolitionist on board, what was the 


24 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN, 


ultimate object of his efforts, he would point you to the 
Eden-like fertility, the beautiful cities and villages; the 
thrift, intelligence, virtue, and liberty-breathing institutions 
of the one State, and then to the premature dilapidation, 
the artificial sterility, the deadly hectic of consumption on 
the face of the other, and say, that it was to make the 
unfortunate State of Kentucky just like her happy sister 
on the other side of a narrow stream. The malevolence of 
emancipation has this extent, no more: we would that the 
slaveholding States were not almost, but altogether such as 
we are in New England, save in the natural sterility of our 
soil. 

If slavery were the happiest physical condition the slaves 
could enjoy, even then philanthropy and patriotism would 
not lack the highest motive for emancipation. For it seeks 
not only to emancipate the slave , but his master from the 
bondage of a curse that mingles in the air he breathes, 
breaks up the harmony of his domestic relations, and 
poisons the education of his children, and the whole cha¬ 
racter of society. It seeks to relieve him from the tyranny 
of a system which makes him a slave to his own conscience 
and the continual forebodings of danger; to reinstate him 
in the confidence of the world, and the character of a true 
republican. Would it impoverish him ? No; it aims to 
resuscitate, to their primeval fertility, the greenest fields 
of this continent, which have been reduced to haggard 
barrenness by their peculiar institution. It would stud 
their world of rivers with thriving villages; fill their 
country with a virtuous and intelligent population; cut 
up their uncultivated wastes into productive farms and 
plantations, and introduce the improvements of agricul¬ 
tural science and the energy of free labour. In a word, it 
would erase the Gain-mark curse of degradation which 
they have branded deep in the forehead of labour, and cut 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


25 


down the vast upas that overshadows their land, and which 
has kept five millions of the energetic sons of freedom from 
entering their coasts. 

Such are a few of the malevolent designs which the 
friends of emancipation enter! ain towards the slaveholders 
of the South. There are other impressions, of equal 
strength and absurdity, operating upon the minds of the 
people, which I have not space to enumerate. One of 
great prevalence is, that notwithstanding the passive en¬ 
durance of the slaves under the constant pressure of cruel 
treatment, the first impulse of their gratitude, on being set 
free, would be to cut their masters' throats! This im¬ 
pression, too, comes from those who believe that the nature 
of the African race is, at least, as elevated as that of the 
beasts. Then there is a piously affected horror at bringing 
the subject of anti-slavery into politics, as if it were too 
pure; and the church declines to shelter the bantling, 
because it is too profane. Tims it is bandied about like 
the ark among the Philistines; all parties exclaiming, 
Don’t briny it here! take it anywhere else, but don’t briny 
it here ! The office-holder, who lives upon the sweets and 
spoils of power,—the ambitious demagogue, who aspires 
to patronage of the government, and the gambling partisan 
who bets upon the result of an election, are all shuddering 
at the thought that the yreat interests of the country 
should be sacrificed to the one idea of anti-slavery. Such, 
my dear sir, are some of the obstacles and arguments we 
have to encounter and refute. 

With sentiments of profound esteem, 


c 


26 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 

Dear Friend and Brother, 

If my arm were long enough to reach across the 
Atlantic, I would give you the warm hand of fraternal 
and Christian fellowship every morning. I have glowing 
in my heart a desire, as earnest as the sentiment of 
my existence, that the Anglo-Saxon race may feel the 
bonds of their consanguinity, and apprehend and appre¬ 
ciate their dignity, as the elect of God, and co-workers 
with him in raising mankind from the low grounds 
of their degradation to the light of a new day, and to the 
fruition of new hope and happiness. I want to see our two 
great nations shake hands in perpetual amity, and promise 
henceforth to be brethren, united by all the ties that God 
and nature can create between human hearts ; united in 
one vast scheme of magnificent philanthropy for ame¬ 
liorating the condition of the world ; for carrying through 
all the sunless and twilit regions of the race, the light, the 
life, and the love of the gospel of Christ. What a new 
day would dawn upon this world; what new heavens would 
bend their serene and starry amplitudes around the vision 
of humanity ; what a new, green, peaceful earth would 
displace this blood-seethed area of violence, if the two 
great Anglo-Saxon nations would come up, heart in hand, 
to the full stature of their moral might and majesty ; if 
they would take hold of the omnipotence which God has 
given them for good, and crane up the race to a new stand¬ 
point in the scale of being and beatitude ! 

My dear sir, your nation and mine, with all their states¬ 
men and political philosophers, have failed to comprehend 
the political economy of the gospel. “ Seek first the king- 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


27 


dom of God and his righteousness, and all these things 
shall be added unto you,” like every other command of our 
Saviour, was addressed as directly to nations as individuals. 
That Divine direction embodies more of political economy 
than the English language has elsewhere expressed. Sup¬ 
pose Great Britain, with all her immense revenue of money 
and of mind, had carried out this command, as a matter of 
mere policy. Suppose, ever since the Reformation, she 
had supported a standing army of missionaries through all 
the heathen world, and freighted her navy with Bibles and 
teachers of civilization and Christianity, how “ these other 
things” would have been added unto her, until there Avould 
not have been room enough in her wants, her wealth, and 
her happiness to receive them ? Had she shod, with the 
preparation of the Gospel of peace, the one hundred and 
fifty thousand of her subjects which she sacrificed, in the 
“seven years’ war” for a few acres of snow in the wilds of 
America, and sent them as teachers and soldiers of the 
cross, through all the regions that know not God ; had she 
sustained that mission with the ^367,500,000 which she 
threw into the gulph of that single war, this day five hun¬ 
dred millions of the human race would not only have been 
lifting up their hands and hearts, and singing praises to the 
one only and true God, in the language in which Milton 
sung, Paley wrote, and Payson prayed, but they would be 
reading English books, wearing English clothes, buying 
and using all that England could manufacture to ameliorate 
the condition of common life, to meet the necessities of 
civilization, and minister to the tastes of elegance and moral 
refinement. The commerce of the world would have been 
a million times more than it is at this hour; and, without 
a single ship of the line, Great Britain would have had all 
she wished of it. 

Such are " these other things” which God would have 

c 2 


28 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


added to her wealth and true glory and happiness, had she, 
as a nation, and even as a matter of pecuniary policy, 
sought iirst to establish his kingdom and Lis righteousness 
throughout the world. 

My dear sir, there would have been no poor, depressed, 
ignorant, and starving operatives on your populous island 
to-day, if the political economy of the gospel had been 
deemed by British Christians paramount to all the elaborate 
sophistries of human wisdom, and been adopted and pur¬ 
sued as the policy of your government. And whatever 
applies to your nation applies to my own. Both have 
come short, immeasurably short, of their duty and their 
destiny, in rejecting the magnificent policy of the Christian 
religion, and seeking to establish first some obstinate 
nationality, rather than that kingdom which would enrich 
them in enriching the world, and bringing the whole family 
of man into one intimate, social, and peaceful brotherhood. 

Come, then, as we have sinned together, let us repent 
together. Let British and American Christians shake 
hands across the Atlantic, and pledge themselves anew to 
the great enterprise of the world’s redemption, in which 
they have been set apart to co-work with God, and divide 
the kingdom of heaven with his Son. Let us renew the 
sublime terms of our fealty, and swear upon the altar of 
our God and King, that whether the British empire 
stand or fall, whether the experiment of the American 
Republic succeed or fail—we, and our children, and our 
children’s children will adhere to the letter of our covenant 
with the Prince of Peace. Let us take hold of the pro¬ 
mises of the gospel, and draw ourselves up to a higher 
standard of faith in Christ, and faith in humanity. How¬ 
ever, the constitution of human nature and human society 
may be sicklied through with sin, let us believe that the 
principles and prescriptions of the Saviour of the world are 


LETTER TO AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 


29 


precisely adapted to its condition, and capable of restoring 
it to the fullest vigour of moral life and health. In view 
of the progressive diffusion and influence of these prin¬ 
ciples, and while labouring to bring the world under their 
life-giving power, let our Marseillaise Hymn be the anthem 
of the heavenly hosts which sang over the plains of Beth¬ 
lehem, “ Peace on earth and good-will to men ! ” 

The world wants peace. The gospel and Providence of 
God have predicted and promised peace. Peace is the 
consummation of all law and love, human and divine— 
peace on earth, as in heaven; for heaven will open on 
earth when there is peace and good will among men. All 
the interests of humanity cry out for peace among nations. 
Commerce opens her ledger, and declares to the world that 
her mercenary gospel is a gospel of peace and good will to 
men. Written on its pages, in letters of gold, she reads to 
Christianity, <f God hath made of one blood all nations of 
men, for to dwell on all the face of the earth,” in peace 
and fraternal comity. Nature spreads out her volume and 
beckons Christians to come and read in the almighty syl¬ 
lables of her gospel that revelation of love ; and, with all 
the minstrelsy of her living, shining, and singing things, 
she pleads for peace on earth. 

And why is not the earth at rest from these bloody 
turmoils? Why has it been reddened for centuries with 
Christian blood, and burnt over and over with the Sodom 
fires of hate and passion unknown to the fallen spirits ? 
Where has been the peace that the ascending Prince of 
Peace left with his disciples ? If that heavenly and heaven¬ 
making and heaven-breathing legacy existed in principles , 
to be lived on as the bread of life, why have not Christians 
imitated their masier, and left his peace and their peace 
with the world, by perfusing it with the principles in which 
k can only live and pervade mankind? May God forgive 


30 


WAR AND CHRISTIANITY. 


the times of ignorance, darkness, and delusion in which 
Christians have consented and contributed to the desola¬ 
tions of War. A new day is dawning upon us now. God 
is a sun ; his gospel is a sun, and in its noon-tide. 


WAR AND CHRISTIANITY, 

War is a sin-breeding sin of sins, whose satanic progeny 
have filled the world with every form of violence, suffering, 
degradation, and misery, and preyed with their serpent 
teeth upon all the best interests of humanity. We despair 
of any permanent, w r orld-wide, transforming reform, until 
Christianity is divorced from its unnatural, ungodly wed¬ 
lock with the spirit, the fiendish spirit of war; until it is 
restored to the august sublimity of the power it had before 
Constantine’s day; when every disciple of the Prince of 
Peace was not afraid or ashamed to say to pagan potentates, 
“ I am a Christian , and therefore cannot fight” Well, 
aye, blessed would it have been for humanity, had that 
emperer lived and died a pagan, and never seduced the 
followers of the meek and lowly Jesus into the soul-defiling 
trade of man-butchery, by unfurling the banner of the 
Cross ! Disastrous day for Christianity ! Day of heaven¬ 
daring, blasphemous perjury! when the rising sun of the 
gospel was eclipsed to a sickly taper ray, just revealing 
the thick darkness that palled the warring world for 
centuries. What a falling off was there, w r hen Satan and 
Constantine enticed the Christian to throw down the 
almighty sword of the spirit of God, and gird upon his 
thigh one of their own temper! Standing in the strength 
and wielding the weapons of the Captain of his salvation. 



THE FULFILLING OF THE LAW. 


31 


he could have done to the moral, what Archimedes, with 
his wished-for point of rest, would have done to the 
physical world. Cheated, lock-shorn Christian! the gos¬ 
pel revealed to him an Archimedean point of rest; gave 
him a lever whose longer arm reached into heaven, and was 
even then descending beneath the weight of God’s eternal 
throne ; and the whole continent of humanity was rising 
to the light of a new destiny. But, alas! the tempter 
thrust a sword into his hand, and with the first blow he 
struck with it, he smote away that point of rest, and that 
great lever fell powerless to the ground. Had he resisted 
the seductions of the prince of this world, and spurned all 
his carnal weapons, he would centuries ago, have pulled 
down the last stronghold of paganism, and not a heathen 
would have been this day concealed from the light of the 
gospel, nor any corner of the earth unvisited with the 
healing of its wings. 


THE FULFILLING OF THE LAW. 

Christ “came not to destroy the law and the prophets 5 ’ 
—not to displace them with reckless license—but to fulfil 
them, as the seaward rivulet is fulfilled when its becomes 
a river, and bears to the ocean the heavy ships of burthen. 
Speaking as never man spake, he said to his disciples, 
“ Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love 
thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy : but I say unto you, 
Love your enemies i bless them that curse you ; do good 
to them that hate you, and pray for them which despite- 
fully use you, and persecute you ; for if ye love them only 
which ioye you, what reward have ye?” Did his new 




32 


THE FULFILLING OF THE LAW. 


commandment destroy that law of Moses ? No; it fulfilled 
it, it widened and deepened the rivulet into the river, sa 
that it might bear down to the sea of time and the ocean 
of eternity, that great commandment, “ Thou shalt love 
thy neighbour as thyself,” and thine enemy as thy 
neighbour. Christ came to fulfil every law of Moses, 
and every prediction of the prophets in this very way. 
He fulfilled every law of the decalogue, and made 
it exceeding broad and deep. The command, “ Thou 
shalt have no other gods before me,” when fulfilled , 
read, “ Thou shalt love, the Lord thy God with all thy 
soul, mind, and strength.” All the other laws of the 
decalogue are fulfilled in their aggregation, or as mine 
rivulets from the same mountain source would be fulfilled, 
when mingling in one unbroken stream. And they read, 
“ Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” “ On these 
two commandments, hang all the laws and the prophets,” 
saith he who came to fulfil them. And love is not only 
the source, but the fulfilling of the law. And the law 
is the life of love, and love is the law of gravity in the 
moral world, which attracts heart to heart, man to man, 
angel to angel, and all created beings to God. So love is 
the fulfilling of the fulfilment ; that is, even of these two 
great commandments upon which hang all the laws and 
the prophets. For when fulfilled in love, they are as 
much one. and of one law, as the two forces which attract 
the earth to the sun and the moon to the earth. They 
are both two directions, not modes, of action of the same 
law, the law of moral gravitation. No one can love God 
with all his soul, mind, and strength, without loving his 
neighbour as himself, any more than the earth can gravitate 
towards the sun without attracting toward itself the moon 
by the same force of gravity. 


33 


THE CHRISTIAN-BUTCHERING CHRISTIAN. 

“ Persons who have nice scruples about religion have no business in 
the army.”— Duke of Wellington. 

We trust that few can be found in this enlightened age 
disposed to dissent from this sentiment of the Hero of 
Waterloo. 'What business a follower of the meek and 
lowly Jesus can have in the army, is a question which has 
troubled, for centuries, the darkened understanding of the 
heathen world. To them—poor pagans !—and to all the 
beings that look down with pity and wonder upon this 
terrestial scene, a field of battle, where Christians meet and 
mingle in savage butchery, has been the most unaccount¬ 
able phenomenon in the moral world. In what state of 
sentiment the love-breathing religion of the gospel exists in 
the heart of a Christian, while, with his eyes glaring 
like a tiger, he is pushing his bayonet through the body of 
another Christian, or stamping him, breathing, into a jelly 
beneath his horse’s hoofs, is a problem which no moral 
physiologist has ever solved. We know there are some 
insects, reptiles, and quadrupeds, which, after a long 
winter of suspended animation, resume, or assume, under 
the breath of spring, a new and vigorous existence. But 
during this long interregnum of death, they retain no 
characteristic of their several natures. Nothing but their 
cold and lifeless forms ascertains to you that they were 
once flies, snakes, or mice. Through all this period they 
assume no new qualities. They sleep and awake, live and 
die, immutable and unchanged in their natures. If the 
Christian warrior could take advantage of a state analogous 
to this condition, the vital principle of religion might, 
perhaps, be perpetuated in his heart through a long 

c 3 



31 


THE CHRISTIAN-BUTCHERING CHRISTIAN. 


winter of suspended animation. But here is a difficult 
defect of parity in the two cases. While training for the 
profession of man-butcher, and engaged in its ferocious 
and half-cannibal duties, he is compelled to sweep his 
heart clean of any vestige of humanity, and “ take unto 
himself seven other spirits,” as unlike the spirit of Christ— 
the vine of which he purports to be a branch—as any that 
ever fell out of heaven and kindled the fires of the infernal 
pit with the burning intensity of their malice. 

In the first place, the oath that he takes to violate every 
law of God, at the command of his commanding officer, is 
all that Satan ever asked of the rebel angels, with whom 
he assayed to dethrone the Almighty. And, in complying 
with that oath, and the fiendish service it involves, history, 
in seeking the most expressive terms of eulogy of the 
conduct of Christian armies on the field of battle, has 
described them as fighting not only like tigers, Hons, and 
hyenas, but like devils! This is a just discrimination. 
To say that Christians ever fought like tigers and lions, is 
a libel upon those carnivorous beasts. In the most insane 
ferocity of those calumniated animals, they generally fight 
for food, as well as vultures and other birds of prey. It 
would mitigate the bloody occupation of the Christian 
man-butcher, if he could proffer the same excuse, and say 
that he fought as a cannibal. His inhuman work would 
then be slightly relieved by the plea of necessity and his 
character as a beast. In such a character only can the 
Christian fight like a lion or tiger. But as an intellectual 
and moral being, it he fights at all, he must fight like 
a devil. If he could destroy his fellow beings with fire 
and sword : if he could take up little infants on the point 
of his bayonet and roast them in the fire “at the word of 
command; if, on his furious steed, he could ride down 
the new-widowed mother, as she fled through the crimsoned 


ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 


35 


show with her babe on her breast; if he could chase old 
age and infancy into the house of God and fire it over their 
heads; if he could do all this—and to do it is in the 
bond—with no worse appetites and passions in his heart 
than those which stimulate the most ferocious beasts of 
prey, he might still retain the dignity of fighting like a lion 
or tiger. If he could do it in cold blood, without an angry 
emotion stirring in his bosom, the world, with united voice, 
would denounce him as an irrational monster, below the lowest 
of the brute creation—a murdering automaton, a human 
butchering machine, wound up and set a going by “a 
superior officerBut if he must do it as an intellectual 
and moral being, possessing a moral conscience, and in face 
of all the laws, attributes, and revelations of God; if he 
may not do it as a carnivorous beast, a cannibal, or a soul¬ 
less cast-iron machine, then must he fight like a devil , 
invested with the chiefest attributes of that character. He 
must do it with those malignant passions burning in his 
heart, which make a devil,—which, set on fire in a mass, 
make hell in any part of the universe. 


ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 

There are over three millions of church members in the 
United States, exclusive of the Roman Catholics and some 
other denominations not deemed to be evangelical. They 
all profess to be the disciples of Christ, and a part of his 
body; to be governed by his commandments, imbued with 
his spirit, united to him by that vital communication which 
exists between the branch and the vine. They would all 
acknowledge that nothing would be consistent in their 



ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 


conduct, which would he inconsistent in the conduct of the 
apostles. Still, probably, ninety-one out a hundred of 
these professing Christians believe in the sanction and 
sanctity of defensive wars , though attended with all the 
malignity and desolation, and moral ruin, that marked the 
conquests of Alexander, Ceesar, or Buonaparte. Now, 
then, we would very deferentially ask, if this republic has 
ever waged or ever can wage, any other than a defensive 
war, or such an one as might plead that redeeming quality. 
"We might go farther, and ask if there ever was a duel 
fought in this country which might not have laid claim to 
the same virtue. In every such private combat, was there 
not something to be defended : something dearer than life 
to be rescued from eternal death ? Was not that imme¬ 
diate jewel of the soul, Honour, to be washed clean and 
white, from inky aspersions, in the blood of its assailant ? 
Did such a contest ever drivel down to the decision of 
small questions of property, of plantation boundaries, and 
matters of like moment ? No, nothing but the sacred 
right of defence of honour aspires to the sublime umpirage 
of “ coffee and pistols for two.” 

But we have to do with defensive wars between nations, 
and the position occupied by Christians who believe such 
wars justifiable. Napoleon said in his exile—after he had 
deluged Europe with the blood of six millions of human 
beings, upturned kingdoms, dethroned monarclis, and 
throned an iron despotism on the neck of France—he laid 
his hand upon his heart and said, he never waged any 
other than a defensive war. And so said the Allied Powers, 
that crushed him on the field of Waterloo. So said nearly 
all the Christians of England, when they voted the taxes, 
that are now starving and maddening her labouring popu¬ 
lation, to support her armies and navies, and pay the 
Austrian, Prussian, and Russian squadrons, engaged in 


ON TIIE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 37 

destroying Buonaparte and the republic which he had con¬ 
verted into an empire, like another democratic Caesar. All 
these wars plead the stern virtue of necessity of self- 
defence, and defence of institutions and principles dearer 
than self or selfishness. 

Some simple-hearted Christians entertain very limited 
conceptions of the aggressive capacity of a defensive war. 
To fence around a country with fortifications, to stand in 
battle array on its shores and repel a foreign invasion, 
fulfil, in their thought, the whole aim and permissive extent 
of a defensive war. As for making conquests and aggressive 
attacks on foreign territory, they discard the idea. They 
seem to forget that Napoleon was defending France when 
he was reddening Borodino withe the blood of 40,000 of 
her sons, and encamping in the Kremlin at Moscow. Was 
not England defending her sea-girt isle at Aboukir and 
Acre, at Corunna and Waterloo, and even at Copenhagen ? 
When she sent forth her armies to spread devastation and 
death and burning pestilence on the continent, from Den¬ 
mark to Egypt, was it not in self-defence, according to the 
plea of her best and her greatest men ! Here is the view 
of one of her greatest divines on the subject, the celebrated 
Robert Hall, expressed in a sermon before these defenders 
of his country, on the very eve of their leaving it for a 
distant theatre of defensive conquest. “ Go, then, 5 ’ said 
he, “ ye defenders of your country, advance with alacrity 
into the field where God himself musters the hosts to war. 
Religion is too much interested in your success, not to lend 
you her aid. She will shed over this enterprise her selectest 
influence. I cannot but imagine the virtuous heroes, legisla¬ 
tors, and patriots of every age and country, are bending from 
their elevated seats to witness this contest, as if they were 
incapable, till it be brought to a favourable issue, of enjoy¬ 
ing their eternal repose.” 


38 ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 

But let us come home to our own country. Perhaps 
we may find a stricter code of morality at the helm of our 
defensive wars, past, present, and future. We approach 
this subject with profound awe and veneration. With 
reverential genuflections of mind, and in view of a Mount 
Sinai of religious sentiment, would we draw nigh to our 
glorious and holy revolution. We would ask, in a pious 
disposition, if that was not a dejensive war? Was not the 
attainment of a new political condition—a condition never 
asked or enjoyed before—a condition worth all the terri¬ 
torial acquisitions of reckless conquest—was not that, and 
would it not have been, sufficient ground for a defensive 
war, had England never attempted to impose the dutj of a 
farthing upon all the imports of the colonies ? Nay, had 
she removed every other cause of complaint and conferred 
upon her American subjects the right of representation, 
and titles of nobility on their aspiring leaders, exempting 
them from all taxes for the support of either the colonial 
or home governments, even in that case, would not the 
acquisition of a national independence have justified a re¬ 
course to arms, could it not have been acquired without, 
and would not the consequent war have been a defensive 
one ? If England had done nothing more than to impose 
a tax of two-pence per pound on tea, without giving us a 
representation which could not have effected such a tax in 
the English Parliament, and if the colonies had never 
desired to set up an independent government, would not 
that have been strictly a defensive war which they would 
have waged in resisting that tax ? And if everv poor 
man’s cow in America had been sold, and every poor man’s 
coat, and every poor man’s bones and sinews, to carry on 
that war, not for seven, but seventy times seven years, 
would it not have been sanctified by the saving attribute of 
defence ? Would it not have been fighting for our rights , 


ON TIIE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 


39 


though the property of every third American had been 
confiscated by his countrymen, and he banished to Nova 
Scotia or New Holland, for doubting the morality of the 
war ? 

We are nearly overcome with pious fear, and would 
almost put the shoes from our feet, as we step from some 
of the principles to some of the enterprises involved in the 
glorious revolution. Among the first of this latter class of 
emotions, was the attempted defensive conquest of Canada. 
The long march through the wintry wilderness to Quebec, 
and the murderous attempt to reduce that place, and the 
entire Canadas, like Napoleon’s campaign in Russia, all 
belonged to the character of defensive operations. Suppose 
now that the American arms (we use a scientific term— 
soldiers are seldom called men), had been unlimitedly suc¬ 
cessful, and reduced the Canadas and all the British pos¬ 
sessions in America, and all their islands clustering around 
the continent, and even dispossessed Great Britain of all 
her possessions in the East Indies, would not all these 
conquests have come under the head of defensive acquisi¬ 
tions ? Why, it is almost high treason in an American to 
doubt that the revolution, in its inception and prosecution, 
was a defensive war. 

And the last war—was that not strictly defensive ? The 
British Government impressed our seamen; it was a 
grievous fault and grieveously she answered it, and we too. 
It was officially alleged that over 800 of our American 
seamen were in compulsory service in the British navy, 
with but lit de if any pay. To defend the seafaring part 
of our population, we sacrificed the lives of thirty thousand 
of our citizens. Our commerce was swept from the ocean ; 
Canada was almost wrested from the British ; the metro¬ 
polis of our republic was captured by the enemy; our 
capitol burnt; frigates captured and recaptured on both 


40 


ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 


sides ; the number of prizes somewhat in our favour; 

villages destroyed on the Canadian frontier ; the glorious 

battle of New Orleans, gained by Jackson, and then a peace, 

and all things remained “ in statu quo ante bellum Not 

a w 7 ord was said nor a provision made in the final treaty for 

the surrender of a single American sailor detained in the 

service of the British navy. Was not this a defensive war? 

%> 

Is it not defending one’s country to prevent or punish an 
injury from a foreign power at whatever cost of blood and 
treasure ? to sacrifice thirty thousand of our fellow citizens 
to avenge the death of one fallen by an enemy’s hand? to 
risk the perdition of our commerce, to chastise a foreign 
nation for confiscating a mackerel-schooner that bears our 
flag? 

The last—if, indeed, it has terminated—of our defensive 
wars, is the one waged against the Seminoles, for the 
swamps of Florida, which our government pretends to have 
bought, and which the Indians refuse to sell or leave. 
Here, then, was a question of defending our rights by 
purchase : and if a patriotic editor could appeal to the 
people of New England to sustain him in the sentiment, 
that, “ if necessary, v r e would shed every drop of our 
natioual blood in defending our right to Oregon,” for 
which we never paid a cent, might not our claim to the 
graves of the Seminoles be asserted by force of arms, or by 
the fangs of blood-hounds, on the plea of a defensive war ? 

But let us come to the case in hand. We are on the 
verge of another defensive war. The great law 7 of self- 
defence, says the organ of this government to the civilized 
world, demands a territory contiguous to ours. Vital 
interests, peculiar institutions, lying at the very base of 
our repub 1 ican fabric, will exist at the mercy of the veriest 
chance, if that territory changes its political and social 
condition, and declares that all men are born free and 


ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 


41 


equal, whatever be the coloui of their skin. Twelve hun¬ 
dred millions in property, made so by law out of human 
flesh, and sanctioned by two hundred years of legislation, 
would be put in jeopardy, if slaves could not breathe in 
Texas. If we were justified in waging a war with Britain 
for impressing into her service 800 American sailors, may 
we not appeal to arms to prevent the liberation of two 
millions of American slaves, which would eventually take 
place, if that department of Mexico should get to be so 
independent as to abolish slavery and slave-laws ? 

But suppose this plea of defence were not urged : that 
it had not been “ the cherished policy of this government, 
for twenty-five years,” to annex this territory to our 
domains; that w r e had no slaves to defend from liberty; 
that none of the tyrannical necessities of that “ peculiar 
institution” were upon us; but that we were on the very 
verge of a war with Mexico, from a cause that we will 
assume. 

For twenty-five years, we will suppose, this nation had 
inflicted upon its sister republic all the injury and insult 
it could devise and perpetrate. Every one of our men-of- 
war, as it passed along the Mexican coast, had wantonly 
tried the effect of a bomb-shell, or a paixan shot, on some 
village within reach of their guns, leaving it half de¬ 
molished ; or had used the masts of Mexican merchant¬ 
men as targets to practise their broadsides on, as a sharp 
shooting exercise for the young midshipmen. Suppose 
that every remonstrance and petition of the Mexican 
government had been treated with haughty disdain, and 
answered with aggravated injuries, until the civilized world 
were filled with indignation at this wanton and perpetual 
outrage upon the law of nations. Suppose that the three 
millions of American Christians, who believe in the sanc¬ 
tity of defensive wars, should denounce, in the strongest 


42 


ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 


terms of abhorrence, the conduct of our nation, and declare 
that it could nor would not escape a terrible retribution from 
the hands of the Almighty ; that the God of justice, the 
Avenger on innocent blood, would summon the world’s 
embattled hosts to chastise the aggressor. And now, good 
Christians, let us come to the point at once; suppose 
these predictions should at last be fulfilled, and our coast 
should be lined with the armies which the God of hosts 
had marshalled to punish this nation for its transgressions, 
would you not be among the first to declare that it was 
right to resist that punishment, and fight against God and 
his hosts, and pray to him to give you the victory over his 
justice; power to break through the thick bosses of his 
buckler; and, with the sword of brute force, to drink up 
the spirit of his Providence, quench his judgment-light¬ 
nings, break his thunderbolts, and subjugate his will? 
"Would you not call the struggle to ward off from our 
homes the red wrath you had acknowledged to be our 
desert, a defensive war ? and would not the war declared 
and prosecuted against us by Mexico and the allies that 
God raised up for her to execute His judgments upon 
us,—would not that, also, be a defensive war ? 

But we must bring this article to a close. And, in 
conclusion, we would congratulate the three millions of 
American church members to whom we have alluded, that 
this government can never wage any other than a defensive 
war. We beg them to dismiss all solicitude upon this 
point, and rest on the virtuous patriotism of their countr}^. 
Why, the wars of the Saracens and Turks, and of the 
crusades, were all defensive. France, nor England, nor 
Spain, nor Austria, nor the autocrat of Russia, ever made 
a war to which they could not arrogate this virtue. And 
if such moral qualities sanctified the wars of the old world, 
can those of the new lack the virtue you admire ? No, 


ON THE VERGE OF A DEFENSIVE WAR. 


43 


Christians; the government which you have constituted, 
as the political expression of your morality, never intends 
to go to war except in def< n ^e of honour, of right, of 
peculiar institutions, and cherished interests. It under¬ 
stands your sentiments and position, and exults in the 
fact that they will sustain and sanction all its measures for 
defence. Do not be reserved or doubtful; but speak out 
like a Roman, and say with one, “ My voice is still for 
war” I)o not modify the idea with the timid qualification, 
“ defensive .” It is entirely superfluous and obsolete. 
The government, we repeat, understands your sentiments, 
and reveres them. It will bring all its future wars into 
perfect harmony with the standard of your morality on this 
point. If, in defending itself against Mexico, it should 
find itself able and obliged, by one of the virtuous necessi¬ 
ties of war, to plant its star-spangled banner in the acropolis 
of that unhappy republic, and rifle the Roman Catholic 
churches of their communion ware —“ kicking out the lazy 
priests”—in order to defray the cost of defending your 
country; if it should extend to the Isthmus of Darien, the 
“area of that freedom,” that flesh-mongering liberty, 
which we claim above all nations, to chattelize and coffle 
our fellow-beings ; in that case, it will rely upon your 
sympathy and assistance, and your Te Deums for its 
success. 

Thus much we would say to all Christian advocates of 
defensive war. To those professed disciples of the Prince 
of Peace, who are distrustful of the wide latitude of vio¬ 
lence to which any license of brute force may expand, we 
would address one word of earnest exhortation. Now is 
the time to let the nation hear your voice. Speak out, 
not like a Roman, but like a strong-hearted Christian, and 
say in the name and spirit of your Master, My voice is 
still for peace ! unconditional, perpetual, universal peace. I 


GENIUS-MAKING. 


11 

denounce all war, as unchristian in its inception, aim, means, 
and end; as a subversion of all the commandments of 
Christ, to which I give no volutary sanction or support. 
Until you take this ground, claim not to be an advocate of 
peace. O that weak and weakening reservation in favour 
of defensive wars ! so long as it is made by the Christian, 
of Christendom, so long will that happy epoch be deferred, 
when nations shall learn war no more. 


GENIUS-MAKING. 

An individual, with a laudable spirit of emulation, sees 
men standing upon an eminence which he is determined to 
reach. He appreciates the nature and necessity of the 
exertion, and sets himself to work with an earnest assiduity 
that never tires nor faints. At first he labours like a pri¬ 
soner who is trying to dig through the granite dungeon 
wail with a nail or a knife ; he conceals every stroke from 
the public eve, lest his friends and neighbours should laugh 
at his tortoise step. He goes on ; every inch is gained by 
a painful effort. He bends every opposing circumstance to 
his service; he lays siege to every obstacle, and carries it 
as one would carry a redoubt, and turns it against the next 
obstruction. A steep overhanging rock blocks up his path, 
and threatens him with destruction. He must scale this, 
or never ascend another inch. Years roll on, and find him 
cutting his winding way up the precipitous bulwark ; 
steadily he keeps his eye to the top until the last niche is 
finished ; and when he proudly plants his foot upon the 
vanquished rock, he finds himself the lord of a fortress 
which commands every other post that intervenes between 



GEN ICS-11A KING. 


45 


turn and the summit goal of his ambition. Every obstacle 
lie meets serves only to increase his upward gradation. 
He reaches the top, and as he wipes his brow, and casts 
his eye down his winding path, he sees that all the 
obstacles he encountered were like friendly though frown¬ 
ing giants, that lifted him from one step to another, till 

reached the goal. 

Did fortune, chance, or native genius help him up the 
eminence ? No ; fortune was his first foe ; and he fought 
with her at every inch, and dragged her with him to the 
top, a docile prisoner. What did chance do for him in 
the outset ? It was a screeching phantom that struck its 
black wings in his face, and rolled rocks in his path at 
every step. He braced up his heart, and bearded the 
providence of fate, and allied himself to a more available 
auxiliary, the common Providence of God. 

But he had native genius on his side? Yes; but it was 
a genius which he begat himself; it was the legitimate 
offspring of his own faculties; which he believed and 
proved were able to produce this attribute of the intel¬ 
lectual soul. He had a mind ; and so has every other 
man ; and that mind had just so many faculties, and no 
more. True, they were weak at first and he knew it, and 
his fellows might have laughed at him for it; but he found 
by experiment that these faculties, like those of every other 
man, were endowed with a susceptibility of cultivation and 
a capacity of strength sufficient for any emergency or 
attainment. He dared not tell the world so ; for it would 
have been disrespectful to the royal blood of genius, and 
he would have been denounced a heretic to the established 
faith. But he went to work in secret as every man is 
obliged to do ; and he was half-way up the eminence before 
the world knew it. From that point to the apex of his 
career he was called and crowned a genius. 



46 


GENIUS-MAKING. 


The prerogatives of this title are fixed with precision, and 
the ceremonies of the coronation are the same now as they 
were under the dynasty of Mount Olympus. The modern 
process is something after this fashion: A man called a 
biographer is sent after the genius, with all the machinery 
invented for the operation. As soon as the candidate for 
immortality has ceased to climb, the biographer—or rather, 
biotapher—sets to work might and main. He knows his 
task, and performs it too. He strikes into the base of 
the eminence, and digs away every foot-print of his hero’s 
ascent. He tears away the rocks he scaled, and the shrubs 
he crushed. He cuts away the acclivity, and shows the 
man standing upon the jutting edge of a perpendicular 
mountain, steep and inaccessible as the sides of Gibraltar. 
One stroke more, and his work is done ; it is the crowning 
touch of the apotheosis 5 he writes upon the forehead 
of his unresisting victim, “ Nascitur, non fit,” in glaring 
capitals; then turning to the world, exclaims, “Ecce 
Homo! ” 

This is the history of genius, given in the language of 
common life ; this is the process of genius-making, which 
has filled the world with the graven images of deified 
intellect, which only serves to overawe the people. ’Tis 
gross injustice, the whole of it. This process embodies 
all the elements of the ancient apotheosis. It digs an 
immense chasm between man and man, and breaks up the 
high-road between the incipient and terminating limits of 
his intellectual capacity. In this way the monuments of 
industry and application, which great and good men de¬ 
signed as waymarks to higher latitude of intellectual emi¬ 
nence, are turned to steep, impassable barriers, which 
circumscribe one’s sphere of thought and action. 


47 


EFFECT OF EXTRANEOUS INFLUENCES. 

Take a dozen kernels of Indian corn, and, submitting 
them to a microscope or any other test, they will present the 
same properties or faculties, each of which is indispensable 
to its integral character. Then prepare the soil for their 
reception with the greatest care ; let it be your garden, if 
you please, and under your immediate supervision. The 
moment you commit those kernels to the ground, they 
become subject to diverse influences, which go on increasing 
in number and diverging in diversity even to the full corn, 
and produce an infinite variety in the different blades, 
stalks, and ears, while there was none in the seed. In the 
first place, not even a chemist could produce an equality in 
the different earths that surround each kernel, and supply 
the germinating process with different influences. Then 
there are a thousand diverse accidents peculiar to each. A 
grain of sand, a pebble contiguous to one and not to the 
other, produces a diverse influence, which must inevitably 
give it a diverse character. A spear of grass lying athwart 
the one and not the other; an extra dew drop there, an 
extra sunbeam here, may give a distinct character to each 
germ ; so that when they peep through the ground, no two 
of them will be alike in any respect. Then comes another 
train of influences. The slightest difference in cultivation 
produces and multiplies the diversity. Every stroke of the 
hoe is fraught with a diversity of effect. The delicate fibre 
is nipped unseen by a heedless blow, and the blade feels 
and shows the amputation in some defect. Thenceforward 
to the time of harvest each stalk is daily subjected to 
different influences, which determine its colour, the direction 
of the drooping leaf, the size and position of the ear, the 



48 


EFFECT OF EXTRANEOUS INFLUENCES. 


number of its kernels, the reason why three or four of them 
are red, green, or blue, and the rest yellow. Not a single 
ear or stalk differs from another because there was any 
diversity in the germinating properties or faculties of the 
two kernals. These are facts admitted, and established 
by every day’s experience. No husbandman ever plucked 
two ears of corn in his field, and referred their difference, 
however great, to any difference in the seed. The illustra¬ 
tions of the gospel present the same fact. In the parable 
of the sower, the seed that fell by the way side, or among 
thorns, was just as good as that which brought forth a 
hundred fold ; else there would have been no point to the 
illustration. 

v 

But let us come nearer home, for we may find a more 
interesting illustration in our own physical system, structure, 
and development. It will not cost us any new observation 
or experiment to detect the same law of cause and effect 
here. We can almost come at the conclusion by mathe¬ 
matics, that all the difference in the physical developments 
of men is not referable to any difference in the human 
system, or principle, or any innate difference. We might 
prove this by taking the child in the cradle, without going 
back to that anterior train of circumstances and accidents, 
which have made that child differ from that one lying in 
another cradle. We will take it just at that point of its 
physical development, which corresponds with the germ 
of that seed kernel as it first peered from the ground. We 
will let all the influences to which it has been exposed prior 
to this period go for nothing ; for there cannot be the least 
affinity between its present and future individuality. Now 
let the mother look at it with the sharp sighted scrutiny of 
maternal fondness and experience. She notices with lively 
interest the native colour of its eyes, its hair, the symmetry 
of its form and features. But what can she predicate upon 


EFFECT OF EXTRANEOUS INFLUENCES. 


49 


such data ? Simply this, that it is and will be a human being 
until it dies; that it has hands, head, feet, mouth, eyes, 
nose, ears, and all the other organs and members of the 
human body. These constitute all that is innate to her 
child or any other child. This is the point of universal 
identity; and whatever makes her son differ from her 
neighbours as a boy, or gives his physical development an 
individual character as a man, she knows and confesses, 
must depend upon a chain of influences, part of which are 
within, and part beyond her control. She acquiesces with 
a sigh of maternal solicitude with this condition, the first 
time she presses the little thing to her bosom, and from 
that moment to her death, or his, she shapes all her ends 
and builds all her expectations upon this condition. She may 
have other sons at her side old enough to read to her, and 
understand the most learned treatise on anatomy and 
physiology; and she may call in all her own experience, 
and that of her neighbours, and she cannot tell what will 
be the future colour of her infant’s eyes; whether in 
manhood they will be black, blue, hazel, or even red. 
Neither she or her neighbours can do any thing more 
than guess what will be the colour of his hair when he 
is old enough to learn his alphabet. Nor can they predict 
more safely what features, form, size, and gait will indi¬ 
vidualize him from other people’s children when he comes 
to be a man. 


D 


50 


THE FIRST AMERICAN MISSIONARY. 

A meek-eyed man, who carried a Bible in his pocket to 
feed his heart with, came down to the wharf and sat down 
on a tea chest, to see the ships spread their great white 
wings for the extremest Inde. And he sat and looked 
steadily at them till their tafferels kissed the sea ; and then 
strange musings came over him, and he seemed like one 
who saw something with his eyes shut: and he looked up 
towards the blue sky, and on the sea, and down upon the 
tea chest; and he wondered what these strange hierogly¬ 
phics w r ere. And he gazed and mused till he saw a moving 
spirit in them ; and he fancied they were spectres of Pagan 
thought, that had come 5000 miles by sea to commune 
with him and ask him for the Bible. And the tears 
came into his eyes at that thought; and he started 
for home, for he verily thought that he had seen a vision. 

On his way, a little wooden image from the Sandwich 
Islands stared at him from the window of a toy shop ; and 
they told him it had been worshipped by the far-off island 
people, who thought there ought to be a God to pray to. 
It was too much for him ; and he ran back to his house, 
and to his neighbour’s house ; and he went up into a little 
upper room w r here a dozen young men were praying that 
the knowledge of God might cover the earth as the waters 
do the sea. And he stood up in their midst and told 
them he had seen a vision, the vision of St. Peter. And 
they marvelled at him, for his countenance shone with the 
reflected light of inspiration. And his words stirred their 
hearts with burning thoughts; and as they mused and 
prayed the spirit fell on them, and then they saw clearly 
that the Ethiopian, the dark-skinned Hindoo, and the 


THE FIRST AMERICAN MISSIONARY. 


51 


Polynesian cannibal had each an immortal soul within him, 
notwithstanding the colour of his skin. Wonderful thought! 
the most startling revelation of the nineteenth century! 
All the good Christian people stared at the conception ; 
and when the meek-eyed man went round among the 
churches, and held his hat for coppers, there were pious 
misgivings about casting the bread of life upon such foreign 
waters; and the widow’s mite trembled half-reluctant in 
her hand. But he begged and borrowed till he had filled 
his scanty purse; and the next ship that weighed for a 
heathen shore carried over the waves the first American 
missionary of the cross. A few moons went by, and an 
aged Simeon arose in a prayer-meeting and read a letter 
from the missionary ; and children wondered and old men 
wept to hear how some Pagan soul had bowed to the sceptre 
of Emmanuel. And the printer took that letter and made 
ten thousand of it, and sent one to every place where 
prayer was wont to be made. And then there were ten 
thousand little red contribution boxes made ; and bright¬ 
eyed boys and girls brought their coppers, and forgetting 
Indian crackers and martial pastry, gave them to the mis¬ 
sionary, and thought of droll looking heathen children 
wearing clothes like their own, and trying to read the 
Testament. Those little red boxes, that very year, hung 
up 20,000 cartridge boxes to dry and rot in disease, and 
the trainbands grew thin, and many a village captain felt 
that the fascination of military glory was over. 


52 


PERVERSION OF THE SOCIAL PRINCIPLE. 

From the smallest joint-stock company to the vast cor¬ 
poration of our nation, the perverted social principle has 
fallen upon individual character like muriatic acid ; and 
the social circle, the corporation, the community, the state, 
and the nation have become chemical combinations, which 
present the individual in different stages of dilution. 

We at last reach the remotest limit of divisibility in 
matter; but in the combinations we have referred to, the 
solution of the individual goes on ad infinitum. The first 
process of this personal liquefaction has been in the cor¬ 
poration. 

A man buys in some corporate concern; from that 
moment his personality goes into a rarefaction ; and he is 
speedily rarified beyond the atmosphere of tangibility. 
He becomes intangible and invisible ; he arises phoenix¬ 
like from the ashes of his individuality; he does what a 
disembodied spirit cannot do; he not only divests himself 
of all personal corporeity, but of all personal character and 
responsibility. He becomes not a member, but an indivi¬ 
sible portion of an invisible body, which has none of the 
attributes or liabilities of the individual; a body that has 
no soul, no visible existence ; a sightless corporeity, as 
inaccessible to the sheriff as the vagrant ether ; as unten¬ 
able to the jailer, as a corporation of moonbeams. Even 
in this small combination, he loses the very shadow of his 
individuality. 

But what is this to those other vast combinations, where 
the individual sustains a dilution infinitely more subtle ? 
where his personality neither adds substance nor colour to 
the mass ? Let us pass over some of the intermediate 


PERVERSION OF THE SOCIAL PRINCIPLE. 


53 


combinations, and estimate his character in that which 
constitutes a State or nation. We will take one of this 
Union ; for we have several that might furnish us with 
an illustration lamentably in point. I refer to one of our 
repudiating States. Here we may see the operation of the 
principle on a more extensive scale. No magic lamp or 
sightless mantle ever endowed a creature of oriental ima¬ 
gination with the prerogatives which the State corporation 
can assume at pleasure. To impress the world with an 
aspect of corporeal tangibility, it puts on a human shape. 
It becomes almost a man ; it walks often upon two feet; 
it holds out its hands of flesh and blood to other corpora¬ 
tions and countries; it talks with a man’s voice; it eats 
and drinks and sleeps like other human creatures; it pro¬ 
mises, swears, and swaggers like individual things; it 
writes an excellent hand, and foreign capitalists pay mil¬ 
lions of gold and silver for scraps of its pompous auto¬ 
graph ; not the bullion of a dream, but the real hard- 
coined gold, esteemed by most, the brightest, best, reality 
of the times. That heavy brilliant treasure is committed 
to hands that look as if they might be handcuffed if they 
were dishonest. A process, outdoing all the magic feats 
of alchemy, is immediately set into operation. Let all the 
diviners, magicians, and jugglers of the east come, and 
hang their heads, while they see themselves outdone by 
this State corporation ; for while the former may turn the 
coarsest metal into gold, the latter turns gold into ethereal 
bubbles, and themselves into air. The foreign bond¬ 
holders, each clenching his dreamy scrip, demand some 
evidence of substantiality and tangible corporeity in that 
debtor State. A few efforts dissipate their delusion, and 
they find that they might as well hope to summon up 
spirits from the vasty deep to pay their taxes, as expect 


54 


PERVERSION OF THE SOCIAL PRINCIPLE. 


either principal or interest from a body that has been rari- 
fied into the impersonality of the winds. 

Their agent travels about among cities, villages, and 
plantations ; he stumbles over bales of cotton ; gets lost in 
well filled warehouses ; wanders among clans of slaves; 
sits at the hospitable board of masters, and inquires in vain 
for the State. “ The State! ” exclaims the interrogated 
rustic, “ the State ! there’s no such person about these 
diggins ! ” The puzzled collector finds this truth a sober 
reality. Inquire where he may, he finds that the State 
has evaporated, and that its sediments are perfectly intan¬ 
gible and irresponsible. He meets not an individual who 
would not call him out to face the pistol, should he ques¬ 
tion his high sense of honour and personal responsibility. 
“ Let the State take care of itself,” says the chivalrous 
citizen ; “ I never borrowed a cent of any foreign house, 
nor did I ever promise to pay what others borrowed 
there.” 

The discomfited agent goes home, and tells the staring 
bond-holders that the State has gone into liquidation, not 
of its debts, but of its corporate existence. He soberly 
affirms that it has dissolved back again into innocent, irre¬ 
sponsible individuals. This is one of the largest operations 
of a perverted social principle. It is the work of a mass, 
which has been rolled up like an avalanche around some 
central idea or passion, until it has crushed out all indi¬ 
viduality of character, opinion, responsibility, and senti¬ 
ment. It is this perversion that makes popular opinion 
not the exponent, but a substitute for individual opinion, 
and publie'.sentiment, a feeble impulse of the precarious 
animation which has been infused into a vast moles 
mdige&ta. 


55 




CIRCULATION OF MATTER. 

The earth moves, lives, and acts ; it begets and sustains 
life in all its varieties of organization. It breathes, and its 
breath becomes an atmosphere as essential to the vegetable 
as to the animal creation. That atmosphere, modified to 
every genial temperature, laden with sunbeams rain, and 
dew-drops, respires upon the earth, and fills its veins with 
renovated life. The action of solar and electric heat ani¬ 
mates the digestive process of evaporation and distillation, 
developing the chemical qualities of the soil, and thus 
generates a gastric germinating fluid, which penetrates every 
thing susceptible of expansion. 

It gently opens the serred pores of the acorn and the 
grain of wheat. It feeds their expanding veins with a 
lymphatic element, composed of ail the elements of human 
blood, though combined in another form, which lacks but 
one more process to fit it for the veins of man. Like 
man, the sturdy oak is dust, and unto dust it returns. It 
is not a mere symmetrical inflation of the acorn, that vital 
fluid supplied it with a substance from the earth which 
coalesced with the properties of that acorn, and hardened 
it into wood instead of flesh. 

Every limb and leaf, every wart and wen upon that 
gnarled trunk, every inch of its iron vertere, has been 
developed by a process of nutrition similar to that which 
feeds the bones, nerve, and muscles of the human body. 

The forest, the field ot grain, the prairie and luxuriant 
meadow, and all the animal they sustain, are merely a 
portion of the earth’s surface propelled into perpetual 
circulation by this organic system of everlasting action. 
Go out into your meadow, into your garden, and striking 


* 


56 


CIRCULATION OF MATTER. 


your spade into the rich mould, compute, if you can, how 
many forms of life, a square foot of that soil, has circulated 
since “ the evening and the morning were the first day.” 
Look at that gigantic oak, whose Briarean arms have defied 
the tempests of a hundred years. Conceive for a moment, 
the remote and consecutive history of the elements in its 
sturdy trunk, its stubborn branches, and tenacious roots. 
The matter that lies in dormant induration in that tree, in 
another form may have been propelled through a hundred 
human hearts, and warmed into human flesh, may have 
done service in the strong muscles of the ox, the sinews of 
the bear, the talons of the vulture, the feathers of the 
eagle. The reorganized substance of every species of 
plants and grain and grass ; elements that spread the 
rose-leaf, and mantled in the cheek of beauty; that 
bleached the snow-white lily, and polished the forehead of 
lofty genius; that overarched the dome of thought, and 
bent the rainbow; all these may lie mingled within that 
rough bark. Look at that oak again ; it stands immovable 
in the breeze; but the great system of organic action is 
upon it, hastening the dissolution of its constituent 
elements, and propelling them through other combinations. 
Fifty years hence, and some ot them will mingle in stalks 
of yellow wheat, in blades of grass, and flowers of every 
hue; in the veins of man, beast, and bird ; and some will 
stretch the insect’s wing, and lade the busy bee with wax 
and honey for its cell. And ages hence, in the ceaseless 
progress of its circulation, some of the substance of that 
oak may fall in noiseless dew-drops upon the place where it 
now towers up towards heaven. Yet through all the ages 
of its continuous circulation, not a grain of that matter will 
be wasted, annihilated, or lost. Has not this law of pre¬ 
servation remained as steadfast as any other law of God, 


LOVE, OR THE FORCE OF GRAVITY, ETC. 


5 / 


through every process of composition and decomposition, 
the solid globe, ere this, would have been entirely ex¬ 
hausted. 


i 

LOVE, OR THE FORCE OF GRAVITY IN THE 

MORAL WORLD. 

In the material universe, there is one grand royal law, 
upon which hang all the laws that govern matter or motion. 
That law, the union and source of all the laws known to 
the physical world, is the law of Gravitation. In its object, 
operation, and effect, it is to the material world just what 
the royal law of love is to the moral. To every atom of 
matter in the universe, it is the command, and the command 
obeyed : “ Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
soul, mind and strength, and thy neighbour as thyself; ** 
thou shalt attach thyself to his eternal throne with all thy 
capacity of adhesion, and draw with thee thy fellow atom 
toward the same centre. Since the world was made, not a 
grain of sand, nor a drop of rain or dew, nor a vesicle of 
air, has ever broken that law; and there has been peace, 
perfect peace, through all the peopled amplitudes of space. 
Pervading the whole universe with its socialising influence, 
it attracts particle to particle, planet to primary, sun to 
sun, system to system ; mooring all the creations of God 
around his throne, the common centre of matter and of 
mind. And there, firm and peaceful, that royal law holds 
them, while they make music with the harmony of their 
motions, singing as they revolve in the orbits which it 
prescribed them when eternity was young, and which shall 

remain unaltered by a hair, when eternity shall be old. 

d 3 



58 


LOVE, OR THE FORCE OF GRAVITY, ETC. 


Upon the almighty and omnipresent force of that law, 
depends the destiny of worlds which geometry never 
measured, the condition of beings outreaching the arith¬ 
metic of angels. Should it release its hold upon a single 
atom of matter floating along the sunless disk of non¬ 
existence, trembling would run through all those innumer¬ 
able creations, “ and signs of woe unutterable that all was 
lost.” Suppose, now, that some human government should 
undertake to suspend the operation or existence of this 
royal law of the physical world; and suppose that its 
puny arm could palsy that all pervading, concentrating 
force ; what mind could not conceive the awful catastrophe 
that would ensue throughout the material universe? Millions 
of millions of suns would be quenched simultaneously in 
everlasting night. All the worlds they lighted and led, 
would crumble in their orbits into the minutest divisions 
of matter, filling the whole immensity of space with hostile 
atoms, each at war with its fellow, repelling its society, and 
dashing on in its centrifugal madness, to “ make confusion 
worse confounded.” All the beings that peopled those 
decomposed worlds, would float promiscuous and dismem¬ 
bered over the black surges of the boundless chaos ; and 
not a throb of life nor a ray of light would beat or shine 
amid the ruins of the universe. Does any one doubt for a 
moment that all this, and more than we can conceive of 
ruin, would be the instantaneous consequence of destroying 
the great law of gravitation ? But what is all this ? what to 
God and his moral universe is all this dire disaster, this 
wreck of matter and crush of worlds ? what this disruption 
of every vein of life and form of beauty ? what is all this 
to that other and more dreadful catastrophe which war 
would produce, when it reaches up and essays to paralyze, 
with its iron hand, the great law of Love, the law of Gravi¬ 
tation in the moral world, which attracts and centres 


WHY I LEFT THE ANVIL. 


59 


around the heart of God, all the hearts that beat with 
spiritual existence? Amid the decomposition of the material 
universe, every undying spirit would be safe from the 
general ruin, nor verge a hair from its moral orbit, nor be 
jostled from its centripetal tendency towards its great Source 
and Centre. But in that other act of immeasurable iniquity, 
man would consign the moral world to a chaos infinitely 
more appalling than that which would involve the material 
universe should he strike from existence the law of gravity. 
He would sever every ligament of attraction that attached 
heart to heart, spirit to spirit, angel to angel, and all 
created beings to God. He would set the universe on fire 
with malignant passions, on whose red billows contending 
spirits, once blessed, now damned, would thrust at each 
other’s existence, and curse themselves and God. That 
act would put a sword into every angel’s hand, and every 
harp in heaven, with horrid discord, would summon the 
frenzied and battling seraphs to mutual but deathless 
slaughter. It would blast the foliage of life’s fair tree, 
turn the crystal river into burning pitch, and line its banks 
with fighting fiends. Hate, malignant and quenchless, 
would burn in every heart, and no two spirits in the universe 
would unite, even in a common malevolence. 


WHY I LEFT THE ANVIL. 

I see it, you would ask me what I have to say for my¬ 
self for dropping the hammer and taking up the quill, as 
a member of your profession. I will be honest now, and 
tell you the whole story. I was transposed from the anvil 
to the editor’s chair by the genius of machinery. Don’t 



60 


WHY I LEFT THE ANVIL. 


smile, friends, it was even so. I had stood and looked 
for hours on those thoughtless, iron intellects, those iron 
fingered, sober, supple automatons, as they caught up a 
bale of cotton, and twirled it in the twinkling of an eye, 
into a wirlwind of wizzing shreds, and laid it at my feet in 
folds of snow-white cloth, ready for the use of our most 
voluptuous antipodes. They were wonderful things, those 
looms and spindles ; but they could not spin thoughts ; 
there was no attribute of Divinity in them, and 1 admired 
them, nothing more. They were excessively curious, but 
I could estimate the whole compass of their doings and 
destiny in finger power; so I am away and left them spin¬ 
ning—cotton. 

One day I was tuning my anvil beneath a hot iron, and 
busy with the thought, that there was as much intellectual 
philosophy in my hammer as in any of the enginery agoing 
in modern times, when a most unearthly screaming pierced 
my ears; I stepped to the door, and there it was, the great 
Iron Horse ! Yes, he had come looking for all the world 
like the great Dragon we read of in Scripture, harnessed to 
half a living world and just landed on the earth, where he 
stood braying in surprise and indignation at the “base 
use,” to which he had been turned. I saw the gigantic 
hexiped move with a power that made the earth tremble 
for miles. I saw the army of human beings gliding with 
the velocity of the wind over the iron track, and droves 
of cattle travelling in their stables at the rate of twenty 
miles an hour towards their city-slaughter-house. It was 
wonderful. The little busy bee-winged machinery of the 
cotton factory dwindled into insignificance before it. Mon¬ 
strous beast of passage" and burden ! it devoured the inter¬ 
vening distance, and welded the cities together ! But for 
its furnace heart and iron sinews, it was nothing but a 
beast, an enormous aggregation of—horse power. And I 


WHY I LEFT THE ANVIL. 


61 


went back to the forge with unimpaired reverence for the 
intellectual philosophy of my hammer. Passing along the 
street one afternoon I heard a noise in an old building, as 
of some one puffing a pair of bellows. So with more a do, 
I stepped in, and there, in a corner of a room, I saw the 
chef d’oeuvre of all the machinery that has ever been 
invented since the birth of Tubal Cain. In its construction 
it was as simple and unassuming as a cheese press. It went 
with a lever—with a lever, longer, stronger, than that, with 
which Archimedes promised to lift the world. 

“ It is a printing press,” said a boy standing by the ink 
trough with a queueless turban of brown paper on his head. 
“ A printing press ! ” I queried musingly to myself. “ A 
printing press? what do you print?” I asked. “Print?” 
said the boy, staring at me doubtfully, “why we print 
thoughts.” “ Print thoughts ! ” I slowly repeated after 
him ; and we stood looking for a moment at each other in 
mutual admiration, he in the absence of an idea, and I in 
pursuit of one. But I looked at him the hardest, and he 
left another ink mark on his forehead from a pathetic 
motion of his left hand to quicken his apprehension of my 
meaning. “Why, yes,” he reiterated, in a tone of forced 
confidence, as if passing an idea, which, though having been 
current a hundred years, might still be counterfeit, for all 
he could show on the spot, “ we print thoughts to be sure.” 
“But my boy,” I asked in honest soberness, “what are 
thoughts, and how can you get hold of them to print 
them ? ” “ Thoughts are what come out of the people’s 

minds,” he replied. “Get hold of them, indeed? Why 
minds arn’t nothing you can get hold of, nor thoughts either. 
All the minds that ever thought, and all the thoughts that 
minds ever made, wouldn’t make a ball as big as your fist. 
Minds, they say, are just like air; you can’t see them ; 
they don’t make any noise, nor have any colour; they don’t 


62 


WHY I LEFT THE ANVIL. 


weigh anything. Bill Deepcut, the sexton, says, that a 
man weighs just as much when his mind has gone out of 
him as he did before.—No, sir, all the minds that ever 
lived wouldn’t weigh an ounce troy.” 

“Then how do you print thoughts?” I asked. “If 
minds are thin as air, and thoughts thinner still, and make 
no noise, and have no substance, shade, or colour, and 
are like the winds, and more than the winds, are anywhere 
in a moment; sometimes in heaven, and sometimes on 
earth and in the waters under the earth; how can you get 
hold of them ? how can you see them when caught, or 
show them to others ? ” 

Ezekiel’s eyes grew luminous with a new idea, and 
pushing his ink-roller proudly across the metallic page of 
the newspaper, replied, “ Thoughts work and walk in 
things what make tracks; and we take them tracks, and 
stamp them on paper, or iron, wood, stone, or what not. 
That is the way we print thoughts. Don’t you under¬ 
stand? ” 

The pressman let go the lever, and looked interrogatively 
at Ezekiel, beginning at the patch on his stringless brogans, 
and following up with his eye to the top of the boy’s brown 
paper buff cap. Ezekiel comprehended the felicity of his 
illustration, and wiping his hands on his tow apron, gra¬ 
dually assumed an attitude of earnest exposition. I gave 
him an encouraging wink, and so he went on. 

“Thoughts make tracks,” he continued impressively, as 
if evolving a new phase of the idea by repeating it slowly. 
Seeing we assented to this proposition inquiringly, he 
stepped to the type-case, with his eye fixed admonishingly 
upon us. “ Thoughts make tracks.” he repeated, arranging 
in his left hand a score or two of metal slips, “ and with 
these here letters we can take the exact impression of 
every thought that ever went out of the heart of a human 


WHY I LEFT THE ANVIL. 


63 


man ; and we can print it too,” giving the inked form a 
blow of triumph with his fist, “ we can print it too, give 
us paper and ink enough, till the great round earth is 
blanketed around with a coverlid of thoughts, as much 
like the pattern as two peas.” Ezekiel seemed to grow an 
inch at every word, and the brawny pressman looked first 
at him, and then at the press, with evident astonishment. 
“ Talk about the mind’s living for ever! ” exclaimed the 
boy, pointing patronisingly at the ground, as if mind were 
lying there incapable of immortality until the printer 
reached it a helping hand, “ why the world is brimful of 
live, bright, industrious thoughts, which would have been 
dead, as dead as a stone, if it hadn’t been for boys like me 
who have run the ink rollers. Immortality, indeed ! why, 
people’s minds,” he continued, with his imagination climb¬ 
ing into the profanely sublime, “ people’s minds wouldn’t 
be immortal if ’twasn’t for the printers—at any rate, in 
this here planetary burying-ground. We are the chaps 
what manufacture immortality for dead men,” he subjoined, 
slapping the pressman graciously on the shoulder. The 
latter took it as if dubbed a knight of the legion of honour, 
for the boy had put the mysteries of his profession in 
sublime apocalypse. “ Give us one good healthy mind,” 
resumed Ezekiel, “ to think for us, and we will furnish a 
dozen worlds as big as this with thoughts to order. Give 
us such a man, and we will insure his life; we will keep 
him alive for ever among the living. He can’t die, no way 
you can fix it, when once we have touched him with these 
here bits of inky pewter. He shan’t die nor sleep. We 
will keep his mind at work on all the minds that live on 
the earth, and all the minds that shall come to live here as 
long as the world stands.” 

“ Ezekiel,” I asked, in a subdued tone of reverence, 
“ will you print my thoughts too ? ” 


64 


A POINT OF SPACE. 


“ Yes, that I will,” he replied, “if you will think some 
of the right kind.” “Yes, that we will,” echoed the 
pressman. 

And I went home and thought, and Ezekiel has printed 
my “ thought-tracks” ever since. 


A POINT OF SPACE. 

The diameter of the earth’s orbit is, as it were, the 
pocket-rule of the astronomer, with which he measures 
distances which the mind can no more grasp, than infinity. 
This star-measure is one hundred and ninety millions of 
miles in length. This the astronomer lays down on the 
floor of heaven, and drawing lines from its extremities to 
the nearest fixed star, or a centauri, he finds the angle 
thus subtended by this base line to be not quite one 
second ! By the simple Rule of Three he then arrives at 
the fact that the nearest fixed star is 21,000,000,000,000. 

From another simple calculation it follows, that in the 
space around our solar system devoid of stars, there is room 
in one dimension, or in one straight line, for 12,000 solar 
systems; in two dimensions, or in one plane, there is 
room for 130 millions of solar systems; and in actual 
sidereal space of three dimensions, there is room for 
1,500,000,000,000 of solar systems, the size of our own. 

Nay, good farmer, do not look so unbelievingly. Your 
boy need not graduate from the district school to prove all 
this. One and a half million million of solar systems, as 
large as ours, might be set in the space which divides 
between it and its nearest neighbour. And if we might 
assume the aggregate population of our solar system to 



AGENTS OR ELEMENTS* ETC. 


65 


be 20,000,000,000, then there would be room enough for 
thirty thousand trillions of human beings to live, love, and 
labour in the worlds that might be planted in this same 
starless void. 

Nay, good man of the tow frock, hold on a moment 
longer. Our sun is but a dull hazy speck of light in the 
great milky way ; and Dr. Herschel says he discovered 
fifty thousand just such suns in that highway of worlds, 
in a space apparently a yard in breadth, and six in length. 
Think of that a moment! and then that no two of them 
all are probably nearer each other than twenty billions 
of miles ; and then, that the starless space between their 
solar systems might contain 1,500,000,000,000 of similar 
systems ! Multiply these spaces and these systems by a 
hundred millions, and you will have numbered the world 
that a powerful glass will open to your view from one point 
of space. 

Again multiply these systems by twenty thousand mil¬ 
lions, and you will have three billion trillions of human 
beings who might dwell in peace and unity in that point 
of space which Ilerschel’s glass would disclose to your 
vision. 

And you ask despairingly, What is man? We will 
tell you what he is in one respect; the Creator of all 
these worlds is his God, 


AGENTS OR ELEMENTS, &c. 

No one who keeps his eye out upon passing events, can 
fail to observe and admire the social tendencies of the 
times. No philanthropist can contemplate their silent and 



AGENTS OR ELEMENTS, ETC. 


ba 

peaceful influence, without being inspired with the hope of 
a better day for his race. The social principle has been 
operating upon human nature on a small scale up to the 
present day. It has been at work, for ages, linking hearts 
into small societies. The boundary of a nation has hitherto 
been the limit of its attraction. But the world has just 
entered a new period of its centralizing power. It began 
with associating two hearts; and then went on associating 
hamlets, towns, counties, states, and provinces into a 
nation. It has now become an irresistible force of centri¬ 
petal attraction, drawing nations together towards the sun,— 
source and centre of Universal Brotherhood. 

Look at the development of the social principle as exhi¬ 
bited in the World’s Temperance Convention. How inevit¬ 
able and natural the desire in man to associate himself with 
his fellow, not only in sinning and suffering, but also in re¬ 
pentance and salvation ! Here are two individuals, living in 
a dark lane in some populous city, perhaps. Their hovels 
stand side by side. They have reached the nadir of human 
wretchedness by habits of beastly intemperance. Even the 
dogs bark, and the beasts bellow at them, in remonstrance 
against their voluntary brutality. Their families are drinking 
to the dregs the hemlock of squalid misery. Perhaps they 
first tasted the intoxicating cup together. They sinned 
together; they fell together; and together they tread the 
winepress of their shame and the world’s contempt. A 
lucid moment of painful remembrance comes over them, 
with the unfortunate aim and end of their association. 
Says one to his companion, “let us arise from our wal¬ 
lowing and sign the pledge together, never to taste more 
any intoxicating liquor.” The social principle reacts for 
their salvation. Together they sign the pledge, and con¬ 
stitute the centre and source of a society, whose social 
attraction increases with every new associate. From the 


AGENTS OR ELEMENTS, ETC. 07 

gutter the reformed inebriates adjourn to “ a little upper 
room,” thence to the vestry, thence to the town hall, where 
the great fact of a City Temperance Society is announced. 
In the next town the social principle has operated in the 
same fashion and to the same issue. By this same law of 
attraction the two societies associate; and in the course of 
a year or two, a County Temperance Society is announced 
embracing twenty or thirty town societies. 

The social principle follows the law of gravity in all the 
conditions of attraction. It has already associated a score 
of these little orbs into a kind of solar system, called a 
County Temperance Society. The principle works on, and 
the next year that little solar system, with its “ greater and 
lesser lights,” is absorbed into one of large disk, and becomes 
a satellite to another sun and centre under the appellation 
of a State Temperance Society. The principle works on 
by an intense ratio of progression. State societies are 
attracted, in all their integrity, into another orbit, and 
revolve in unbroken harmony around another centre—a 
National Temperance Society. What next ? Does the cir¬ 
cumferential time of this great solar system bound the 
attractive force of the social principle? No ; far from it. 
It still operates unseen, but not unfelt. Almost without 
concert, and with but little previous admonition of the fact. 

A World’s Temperance Convention is announced in 
London, which place comes, somehow or other to be 
deemed the centre of the system of human societies. A 
world’s convention ! what means that ? how came it about? 
It came about of itself—not exactly by the law which asso¬ 
ciates dead particles of matter, but by one as strong and 
invisible which pervades the great orbit of humanity. It 
comes from the resistless working of the social principle; 
which has been busy in France, Germany, Sweden, Russia, 
and other hyperborean regions. A couple of inebriates 


68 


AGENTS OR ELEMENTS* ETC. 


speaking French, German, Danish, or Sclavonic, did just 
what the two half-sobered Americans did. They signed 
the pledge together, and the social principle worked on 
among the incongruous nations, to the issue of a World’s 
Convention, which is but the preliminary meeting of a 
world’s society for the promotion of temperance, which 
shall never be dissolved. 

We have glanced at only one of the manifestations of 
this social principle, and that one was suggested by the 
occurrence of the World’s Temperance Convention, in 
London. But hard upon its conclusion, another World’s 
Convention is announced, another system of associations 
organized by the principle we are noticing. Then a 
World’s Anti-slavery Convention, and a World’s Peace 
Convention have already become a periodical moral legis¬ 
lature in the world’s metropolis. These conventions are 
becoming fixed facts, if not fixed stars of promise in the 
heavens of the human race. 

The social principle is fast resolving them into perma¬ 
nent societies. They will, perhaps, soon drop the name 
of Conventions, and take that of Anniversaries. In ad¬ 
dition to all this centripetal attraction of the social prin¬ 
ciple in the moral world, commerce, with its thousand 
shuttles, is weaving the nations together in the hempen 
web of coarser interests. 

And there is the great steam engine at work with all 
the indomitable enthusiasm of its glowing heart, contracting 
space, reducing oceans to a river’s width, bringing the com¬ 
pass of a continent within the travel of a day ; compressing 
sea-divided nations into immediate neighbourhoods ; trans¬ 
muting flowers of opposite zones ere their native dews are 
dried on them; strapping countries together with raihvay 
bars—countries which kept each other’s borders red with 
blood for centuries; transplanting the seated hills; opening 


AGENTS OR ELEMENTS, ETC. 


69 


a passage through the foundations of the old cloud-capt 
mountains for the travelling multitude, or under the beds 
of rivers whitened with the canvass of commerce. The 
whole bent of this iron-sinewed giant seems to be, to collo¬ 
cate the different tribes of mankind within a family circle, 
and around the central idea of Universal Brotherhood. 

Then there is the magnetic telegraph. What imagina¬ 
tion can contemplate that mysterious agency of man’s 
invention without being awed into reverence before Him 
who made man so wonderfully and so fearfuily, in en¬ 
dowing him with a capacity to work out such wonderful 
and fearful things ? 

As much as any one have we familiarized our imagination 
with the prospective possibility of the human mind. As 
sanguinely as any one have we believed in great things to 
be achieved away a-head in the geometrical series of human 
progression. But the magnetic telegraph arises like an 
extra mundane column to testify and terminate the farthest 
reach of finite mind. Our imagination dares not look be¬ 
yond this monument of human genius for new conquests, 
or for the linked series of its progression. Nay, we cannot, 
in our imagination, even reach this, without a feeling of 
awe, as if treading within the fearful jurisdiction of Omni¬ 
potence. Still we cannot believe that it was profane in 
man to suborn this agency into his service. Was it not 
left in his way by Him who created it, and man too, 
t( a little lower than the angels?” It is awful to think 
of, and we think of it most reverently; but speaking of 
angels in these inspired terms of comparison, suggested 
almost an advantage on the part of man in connexion with 
this wonderful medium for the transmission of thought. 
In the night visions of the mind, tbis apparition has 
crossed the disk of our imagination. It might be sinful— 
we fear it was; but we must make a clean bosom of it. 


70 


AGENTS OR ELEMENTS, ETC. 


We conceived that man had webbed the whole earth with 
a network of his magnetic wires, so that in the twinkling 
of the eye he could thrill its entire surface, and all that 
dwelt thereon, with an unwhispered thought of his heart. 
And we fancied that while he was standing at the grand 
junction-battery of all these lightning lines, the archangel, 
who had taken down his trumpet to proclaim through the 
world that time should be no longer, before he put it to 
his lips, approached man, and touching his diadem, as to 
a compeer, thus addressed him, “ Human brother, the 
Great Father of Spirits hath made thee but little lower 
than the angels. In one respect he hath given thee emi¬ 
nence over Gabriel himself; and in that respect the angel 
of the trumpet bows to thee. I am sent to announce the 
end of time to all that dwell on the earth. With this 
trumpet I can blow a blast that shall fill the circumference 
of eternity with the voice of the summons. But I may 
not alter the laws which the Planter of the ear and the 
Creator of the air hath prescribed to sound. Days would 
elapse before my trumpet’s voice could make the circuit 
of the globe. Our Omnipotent Father hath endowed thee 
with a quicker speech than the ‘ Koleloliim,’ or the slow 
travelling thunder. Charge thy battery and thy netted 
wires with my awful message to mankind, that all the eyes 
of living men may read its summons in the same instant 
of time. Do this, for God hath made thee a fellow-servant 
with me to do his will.” 

Has our imagination ventured too far in this conception ? 
We fear it. Perhaps we mistook the angel that stood by 
man at the grand junction battery of these lightning lines. 
Yes, we were wrong ; it was not Gabriel; it was the angel 
of the other trumpet, the one John saw flying through the 
midst of heaven with the everlasting gospel of peace! 
Peace on earth and good will to men. Yes it was the 


AGENTS OR ELEMENTS, ETC. 


71 


angel of the rainbow diadem descending amid the choral 
alleluias, to proclaim that God hath made of one blood, 
and for one brotherhood, all nations of men. That was 
the angel, and this the message which shall thrill simulta¬ 
neously the network of these magnetic wires hi which 
coppery-eyed mammon is pursing the earth to fill its greasy 
purse with lucre of the guinea’s stamp. We are not dealing 
in fancy; they are stretching these lightning lines over 
continents already. They are trailing them over the coral 
beds of seas ; down, down among the black skeletons of 
Phoenician orgosies, shipwrecked on a Columbus voyage to 
Britain, and of all others, that for three thousand years 
have gone down unrecorded in the English channel and the 
straits of Dover. Paris and London will soon be brought 
within the same whispering gallery, and the “ natural 
enmity ” between the two nations be lost for ever in the 
unbroken current of friendly conference, in the local 
identity, which these message wires shall work out for 
them. On, on, they are stretching the lightning train of 
thought; onw r ard to the extremest Inde, over seas and 
deserts that have swallowed up navies and armies ; knitting 
the ends of the earth together, and its inhabitants too, in 
the network of consentaneous sympathies ; bringing the 
distant and half-explored continents of humanity, with 
all their tribes and tongues, and colours and conditions, 
within the converse of an hour. Think of that a moment. 
Compressing the solid globe, of twenty-four thousand miles 
in circumference, into a social circle of a dozen furlongs 
girth. If Christianity keeps pace with commerce, will 
there not be a glorious brotherhood, a nice family circle 
of mankind, by the time these literary lightnings shall be 
mounted, and running to and fro over the whole earth ? 
But who are doing all this? Why, who else but that 
wonderful Anglo-Saxon race, that is diffusing itself and its 


72 AGENTS OR ELEMENTS, ETC. 

genius over the world ? That wonderful race, which thrives 
better abroad than at home ; conforms to any climate or 
condition ; whose language is past absorbing or displacing 
all the spiritless tongues and dialects of the heathen world; 
in which millions of young pagans in the far-off ocean isles, 
"from Greenland’s icy mountains to India’s coral strand,” 
and thence to the Yellow Sea, North and South American 
Indians, Polynesians, Australians, Hottentots, Caffres, 
Egyptians, Hindoos, Seikhs, and Japanese, are now learn¬ 
ing their first lessons in civilization and Christianity. If 
British and American Christians do their duty, the boy is 
at school who will live to see half the human family speak¬ 
ing the English language, and half the habitable surface of 
the globe covered with the Anglo-Saxon race, and blessed 
with its civilization. The railway engines that shall thunder 
through the heart of Asia, Africa, and the American conti¬ 
nent, will speak and teach the English language, and so 
will the mounted lightnings on all the highways and wire 
bridges of thought that shall be erected for the converse 
of the world’s extremes. 

In view of these and other social elements and agents, 
which we have not room to notice, may we not properly 
discuss the question, whether the time has not come for a 
society or social organization which shall embrace all the 
willing minds in the world; which shall be and do to all 
the great interests of humanity, what the Anti Corn Law 
League was and did to the cause of cheap bread, and to 
the emancipation of commerce. In short, whether all these 
social tendencies and their results, as manifested in almost 
annual World’s Conventions, do not furnish the means and 
indicate the necessity for a League of Universal Brother¬ 
hood, whose object shall be to employ all legitimate and 
moral means for the abolition of all war, and all the spirit 
and manifestations of war, throughout the world ; for the 


HANGING AND DISSECTING. 


73 


abolition of all restrictions upon international correspond¬ 
ence and friendly intercourse, and of whatever else tends 
to make enemies of nations, or prevents their fusion into 
one peaceful brotherhood; for the abolition of all institu¬ 
tions and customs which do not recognize and respect the 
image of God, and a human brother in every man, of 
whatever clime, colour, or condition of humanity. 


HANGING AND DISSECTING. 

SENTENCE OF BABE, THE PIRATE. 

This individual was sentenced, in New York, yesterday 
morning, to be hung on the 7th of March next, and his 
body to be delivered to the College of Physicians and 
Surgeons!!! We hope for the credit of humanity, there 
lives the man who will see the day, when this wdiole nation 
will quail with horror at the cold-blooded atrocity of the 
act to be perpetrated upon this human being. We should 
think it might answer the sanguine ends of the law, to 
wrest from the Almighty his prerogative of vengeance, and 
thrust an unprepared soul into eternity through the brutal 
charity of the scaffold and the benefit of the clergy. But 
here, here is something “not written in the bond” of 
blood ; an act never contemplated by cannibals; never intro¬ 
duced into the orgies of the infuriated savages. We should 
like to see some of your Scripture quoters who ransack 
the Bible with a bowie knife for a sanction of deeds that 
would make the angels weep; aye, we should like to see 
where between its blessed lids he could decipher the 

E 



74 


HANGING AND DISSECTING. 


divinity of this law. Let him bring out the whole annals 
of paganism, the whole arcana of profane or sacred history, 
and see if he can find a precept or precedent to sanction 
this barbarism upon God’s image. Most reverend signiors 
of the law, has the Almighty extended your prerogative of 
revenge to suit the condition of a more refined society ? 
Blood for blood sufficed in Moses’ day, in David’s day. Is 
that too tame a penance for cutting a man’s throat and 
leaving him for a decent burial on the ground ! that ye 
must add, in sang froid, an act of brutish barbarism upon 
the body whence you have exterminated the deathless soul! 
And tell of it to the world! tell the quaking victim of it in 
the presence of God and man ! define, with steady voice 
and nerve, the time and process of this inhuman outrage 
upon his cold remains ! When you have done with pre¬ 
scribing him to be hanged by the neck until he be dead, 
go on and tell the broken hearted mother, that as soon 
as her son is through with strangling; when his limbs 
have ceased to quiver with the stinging throes of mortal 
agony; then you will send for the callous-hearted surgeon, 
to scrape his flesh off his bones,—that flesh that once grew 
warm to her bosom as she cradled him on her knee ! 

O, may it please your worships ! every human being has 
a mother—a mother, gentlemen, whom you have no right 
to crucify with her son, be he Barabbas himself. Be 
lenient, sirs, ’tis a day of mercy and grace, as some say. 
If it be so, and you have some of the attributes of humanity 
in you, relent a little ; forego this savage prerogative, and 
hang the mother with the son; aye, bid the fellow that 
mans the rope, to put the noose around both their necks, 
and swing them off together, that the knowledge of that 
after deed may die by strangulation. They often kill 
mortally wounded beasts to get them out of pain! how then 
can you send away poor Babe’s mother dying with a living 


THE INFLUENCE OF THE DRUNKARD. 


75 


death, because her son’s last drop of blood did not exhaust 
the vengence of your inhuman law ! 


THE INFLUENCE OF THE DRUNKARD. 

Drunkards never made moderate drinkers. Their 
example is not contagious ; when the temperate drinker 
has tampered with the syren, until he is hard on to the 
drunkard’s end, his influence is gone, his example can no 
longer beguile an unsuspecting young man into the toils 
of the charmer. The spell is broken ; his magic art is 
dissipated ; he cannot make another drunkard; the youth 
who has entered the road to ruin under his influence 
refuses to follow his leading-strings any longer. 

But, alas ! he takes hold of the skirts of another mode¬ 
rate drinker, who is not so near the fatal verge, and is thus 
conducted by different stages and different leaders, until 
he is pushed over the precipice, and plunges into the 
abyss. 

The drunkard’s fate is the sentence, the arrest, conviction, 
and punishment of the moderate drinker. It is a dreadful 
reality which stings him like a viper among the roses which 
the sorcerer has strewn in his path. The young man feels the 
glass trembling at his lips in the presence of the drunkard, 
and like the sons of Noah, he would fain borrow the 
moderate drinker’s cloak, to throw over the habitual ine¬ 
briate, before he can sip the perilous stuff which eats up 
the heart. Place a drunken man at every bar in this city, 
and he would chase a thousand from the shambles which 

e 2 



76 THE INFLUENCE OF THE DRUNKARD. 

made him a brute. Let every bottle of gin, brandy, and 
champagne reflect the image and fate of a drunkard, and 
every one but the moderate drinker would recoil from them 
as if they were bottled plagues. 

The influence of the drunkard, then, is all on the side of 
total abstinence ; it is one of the great instruments which 
we wield in this glorious warfare. What a fact! Is it, 
then, true that the inebriate is pleading our cause with all 
the eloquence of his misery ? Are the moanings which he 
sends up from the gutter arguments which should plead 
like angels, trumpet-tongued, against a single dalliance with 
the cup ? Ah! is it indeed true, that while the poor 
creature is hiccupping and retching in the mire, he is 
trying to get off a temperance sermon; is trying “ to speak 
to that young man,” who is sitting for the first time at the 
fashionable table when the cloth is removed ? When the 
biting scoffs of men and dogs have chased him into his 
frosty retreat, and he stands at bay upon the straw on 
which a broken-hearted creature, which he once called his 
wife, is trying to die—what does he preach there ? Is it 
temperate, moderate drinking, or total abstinence, that he 
advocates, when his little, shoeless, shivering children lift 
them out of the cold ashes, and, with faces stereotyped 
with haggard misery, fix on him their large hungry, glassy 
eyes for bread ? 


77 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 

THIRD GLANCE. 

The parable of the Good Samaritan not only illustrated 
a principle, but a fact of present interest. It describes 
historically the position of every one of you, my readers, 
with regard to your fellow beings. Your daily walks are 
lined with fallen neighbours,—neighbours who have fallen 
among thieves, and been robbed,—robbed of hope, happi¬ 
ness, and the prospect of heaven—robbed of “that im¬ 
mediate jewel of their souls,” their good name, of their 
houses and lands, their affections, their friends, and rela¬ 
tives : robbed of freedom, the right of conscience, and all 
the prerogatives of humanity : wounded neighbours, with 
their broken and hopeless hearts, bleeding at every pore, 
transfixed with arrows that drink up their spirits ; sighing 
unheard for some healing anodyne of human sympathy, to 
alleviate the invisible sorrow that consumes them. 

Among such neighbours we daily walk, either as the 
Priest, Levite, or Samaritan. 

Let us examine our conduct towards the first class of 
these unfortunates,—our neighbours who have fallen among 
thieves, and been robbed of their good name, and left with 
a mortally-wounded character by the way-side, a butt of 
cold distrust and crucifying inuendo to those who pass by 
on the other side. 

Of all that a man possesses and values, there is nothing 
so easy to lose and so difficult to recover, as a good name. 
The thieves that strip him of this, his all of earth, may be 
as invisible as the winds, if not the winds themselves. The 
calumny of a single whisper, the voiceless slander of an 
inuendo, may suffice to set listening suspicion at work to 


78 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 


undermine a character which, for years, it may be, has 
stood high in the public estimation. Against these bandits, 
there is no defence or redress—no granite walls nor iron 
gates, however strong and high, can protect the victim of 
their wanton malice. A whisper, a nod, an ambiguous wink 
or shrug, like the stroke of the swallow’s wing upon the still 
sea, leaves no foot-print behind, no crushed leaf or broken 
plant, as a clue to the robber’s track. And the victim of 
this noon-day burglary may find, on the morrow, his repu¬ 
tation gone “ on change,” and the social atmosphere charged 
with intangible suspicions. He has fallen among thieves, 
who stabbed his inner life in the dark, and robbed him of 
that, which, not enriching them, made him poor indeed. 
Despoiled of the immediate jewel of his soul,—of that which 
worlds want wealth to purchase,—he too lies by the way 
side, where many a Jewish priest and Levite look upon him 
with indifference, as ‘‘they pass by on the other side.” 
As this parable embraces the whole philosophy of Christi¬ 
anity, and, if I may so say, is the whole moral law condensed 
into one principle; so it illustrates all our relations and 
duties to our fellow beings. We may, therefore, divide 
our unfortunate neighbours who have been thus robbed, 
into two classes : viz., those who have lost their pecuniary 
credit merely; and those who have had their good name 
filched from them. 

A vague idea may cross the minds of some, that the 
great and august principles of the gospel were never designed 
to be applied to these little business transactions; and that 
our Saviour, like many of the profound statesmen of our 
times, intended to let trade take care of itself, and not bring 
it within the jurisdiction of an austere religion. 

It has been a propensity of the human heart in all ages 
to confine religion to a matter of convenient faith; or, at 
least, to some easy and periodical acts of devotion. And 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 


79 


there seems to be an aversion, even at the present day, to 
bring religion into the small concerns of every day life; as 
if it were irreverent to make the majestic Christianity of 
the Bible familiar with trifling matters of trade. This idea 
is a very serious and prolific error. It finds no countenance 
in the illustrated precepts of Jesus Christ. The pulse of 
a Christian life is ascertained by these small business trans¬ 
actions, for they are the involuntary ebullitions of the spirit 
that is in him. If Christianity prescribed only a few great 
acts of heroism, at distant intervals, or if it required a 
voluntary martyrdom at the close of a long life of sin, the 
condition might be joyfully accepted by the most abandoned 
of the community. A Christian, then, may just as well 
say that he will not breathe in the kitchen, work shop, or 
counting room, as to say, that he will not carry thither his 
religion. Come then, my friends, let us all look into the 
Samaritan Mirror, and see the personal reflection of our 
conduct towards a neighbour who is apt to be common to 
every circle and community. Let me describe him, or 
rather his situation. He is a young man who has “just 
started in the world,” as they say. He had but very little 
capital to begin with—not over five hundred dollars, at 
most. And half of this he saved out of his wages while a 
journeyman or clerk in a large manufacturing or mercantile 
house. His father, being somewhat proud of the boy, as 
fathers are apt to be, and willing to strain his means to 
the utmost to help him “ begin the world,” has sold off 
some of his stock, and mortgaged his little farm, to increase 
the young man’s capital, and strengthen his credit. His 
mother and sisters, too, though their common purse is 
rather shallow, have agreed, with happy hearts, to husband 
matters at home with the closest frugality, and forego 
everything that lies without the pale of strict necessity. 
We have no particular business with the motives that have 


80 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 


inspired them in making these generous sacrifices; they 
have done it cheerfully and hopefully too ; for that son and 
brother is a hopeful young man: he is the hope of his 
parents at least, being their only son; and he knows also 
what hopes are on him. His “ setting out,” in the world 
is rather small, to be sure; but, then, if his mother’s 
prayers and precepts, and all the wealth of her fond heart, 
are worth anything, the young merchant ought to begin 
business with more capital than Stephen Girard owned 
when he died. 

Well, this young man rents a store in the same block 
with you ; the novelty of his business, hopes, and prospects 
inspires an ambitious emulation in him ; and, it may be, 
he protrudes his little stock of goods further out on the 
side-walk than is the custom among older establishments ; 
and possibly in such a manner, too, that your old cus¬ 
tomers are getting into a habit of looking at his goods 
first. Being always very grateful for the smallest favours, 
and his gratitude for the most trivial patronage inspiring 
his deportment with a meek suavity and politeness, which 
increase the value of his articles, he soon begins to drive 
a thrifty business, and you to esteem him a prospective 
rival. Perhaps, all at once, you begin to be publicly 
solicitous for the young man’s welfare. Behind the 
counter, but oftener “ on ’change,” you drop many 
significant inquiries and expressions of ambiguous con¬ 
cern with regard to the new comer. As a new case 
of goods is left at your young neighbour’s door, it 
has become natural to you to suggest the uncertainty 
of “ doing business on borrowed capital and perhaps 
you accompany this suggestion with a sober monition of 
the eye, or a deprecatory shake of the head, especially if 
some of his creditors are standing by. 

But notwithstanding these significant queries, sugses- 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 


81 


lions, and admonitions addressed to the public in his 
behalf, and always, of course, as a friend of the young 
man, you may have affected his creditors more than his 
customers. The experience and prospects of public patron¬ 
age seem to warrant an addition to his stock-in-trade; and, 
having met a few of his first notes at their maturity, even 
without collecting his out-standing bills, he throws his 
credit into market for a larger amount of goods ; and the 
public is informed, somewhat ostentatiously it is true, that 
his store is replenished with the most splendid assortment 
of goods in town. It is also added, quite conspicuously, 
that he will “sell as cheap” as anybody else at least. 
Many a new customer graciously acknowledges the truth 
of this assertion, as he permits the generous young mer¬ 
chant to enter to his account bill after bill of costly 
articles, to be paid, of course, “at his perfect convenience.” 
The seductive pleasure of having many reputable citizens 
in his debt diverts him somewhat from his original plan 
of business, into the credit system; a system which sud¬ 
denly expands his trade, and more especially his ledger. 
Now, let us suppose that, with your increasing habit of 
solicitude for his welfare, you have watched his movements 
with stealthy interest. Every new article of dress or fur¬ 
niture which he appropriates to the personal comfort of his 
young family you put to the account of extravagance, and 
a fatal ambition “ to keep up appearances.” 

If he ever gives his wife an airing in any thing but a 
common lumber-waggon, you generally happen to be stand¬ 
ing in your door to drop a solemn presentiment, that he is 
running into bankruptcy. Your mind and conversation 
gradually become so habituated to the pleasant melancholy 
of this impression, that you begin to express some concern 
for his creditors, especially his butcher, grocer, upholsterer, 
and others more directly interested in his domestic matters. 

e 3 


82 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 


You may become so disinterestedly affected towards the 
interests of this class of creditors, as to ask them in a 
half whisper, quite audible to a score of by-standers, if 
hey have ever presented their bills to the dashing merchant 
of the next door. You do this with a tone and “ mysterious 
giving out” of the eye which no one can report or imitate. 
With a reiterated profession of good-will to your neigh¬ 
bour, and a dozen to them, you leave them infected with 
the presentiment that the young merchant is going to 
fail. 

An impression of this nature is susceptible of an electric 
contagion in every community, and you soon have occasion 
to remind the public that your early apprehensions are 
about to be verified with regard to the ambitious trader. 
Your neighbours of the same craft have adopted your 
opinion and sympathy for him ; and, perhaps, like you, 
they endeavour to make interest with the city dealer, from 
whom also you obtain your goods on account, by admonish¬ 
ing him in season to be on his guard; suppressing, at 
the same time, any suspicious facts, out of a kind regard for 
his debtor, or a reluctance to have any unfavourable 
reports come directly from them. 

“ A word to the wise is sufficient,” it is said ; and may 
it be added, a significant turn of the eye or head often 
answers the same purpose. It does, in this case at least, 
and the young, generous, well-meaning merchant wakes up 
from all his hopeful dreams, and finds that the jewel of 
his wealth, his credit, is gone beyond recovery. 

As an aggravation of this fortuitous disaster, no trace of 
its author is left upon the haggard ruin of his hopes. He 
know s not, he never will know, “ what private griefs they 
had,” who made him poor indeed, without enriching them. 
Through all the long years of his hard struggle with 
poverty, he never will know who stabbed his credit in the 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 


83 


(lark, and hid the wound he made with the cold ashes of a 
heartless sympathy. But, sir, there is an omniscient Eye, 
in the compass of whose vision there is nothing in human 
actions small or great. That Eye is fixed now, and ever 
will be fixed upon the wanton murderer of this young 
man’s credit. Come, friend, look into our Samaritan 
mirror a moment, and you shall see the personal reflection, 
the portrait of the bandit, drawn by a Limner that could 
sketch the human heart with every shade of its depravity. 
Look closely now. Look not among that foremost group 
for “ his counterfeit presentiment.” 

Those are the four neighbours, the wounded Jew, the 
Priest, Levite, and Samaritan, “all honourable men,” 
except the latter. You will find no murderous bandit 
among them all; but look farther into the background; 
see you not half-a-dozen gallows-looking, cowardly, dark¬ 
faced paltroons, sneaking about among yonder mountains, 
caverns, and dells, for a hiding-place where they may 
divide their plunder ? See! “ their conscience and the 
rustling of the forest leaves have scared their coward 
hearts till their hair stands on end, like the quills of a 
fretted porcupine.” But watch the man that carries the 
bag! Look at him closely! Observe his features, for 
they betray thee. Yes, sir, that is you, yourself 1 Come, 
look erect on heaven, if you can, and let the light of day 
attest that thou art the man !! 

You a neighbour ! No, sir ! the divine painter has not 
ranked you with the Jewish Priest and Levite ; if he had, 
it would have done injustice to those respectable gentle¬ 
men. Fully acquainted with your merits, he has put you 
down the most cowardly among the thieves, that halt 
killed their victim, and ran away with his purse and 
raiment. Come, let us trace out the family resemblance 
between you; let us compare faces, motives, and actions; 


S4 


THE SAMARITAN MIRROR. 


for I apprehend you may be found looking more like one 
of those robbers than he does himself. 

Well, to begin with them. They were robbers. They 
plead guilty to this charge by their conduct before and after 
the act. Perhaps they were robbers by profession; most 
likely so, for they seem to have been carrying on this trade 
in a sort of co-partnership between Jerusalem and Jericho. 
It was a most wicked business, even if they were unable 
to get a living by honest labour; necessity nor custom 
could whitewash such a sin with any virtuous semblance. 

In fact, they did not pretend to have any fear of God or 
man before their eyes at all in the matter. With this 
disposition, confirmed by their private w r ants or griefs, 
they fell upon the unwary traveller and robbed him of all 
he had, and half killed him besides. Now, probably they 
had no malice towards his person, and it is doubtful 
whether they would have hurt a hair of his head, if they 
could have stripped him of all he had without any danger 
of resistance or detection. 

They did not want his life; it was not worth sixpence 
to them, if they could have left it in him, and taken his 
purse. And probably they did not think or wish that he 
would die, when they left him senseless and bleeding by 
the way-side. 

And note the fact, he was an entire stranger to them 
all; they knew nothing of his family, business, or con¬ 
nections ; they had never met on ’change, or greeted him 
with a polite salutation, or professed any kindness or 
sympathy for him. They wanted his purse, and they half 
killed him to get it. They were highway robbers. 

Let us compare this with your case. You robbed 
that young man of all he had, his credit. Had you 
stepped up behind him in the dark, and given him as hard 
a blow as the robbers did the Jew, he would have found 


BUYING A BROTHER FROM BONDAGE. 


85 


plenty of Samaritans to mollify his bruises with healing oil; 
and, besides, his chief creditor, the city jobber, would not 
have minded the scars on him in a matter of trade. Had 
you broken into his store at night, and emptied all his 
shelves upon yours, his unblemished credit would have 
replenished them. But you were his nearest neighbour, and 
you robbed him of all the wealth of his good name. His 
integrity, industry, and credit were all he had, and all he 
needed to make a fortune with ; and of these you robbed 
him. You made him poor indeed;—you beggared his 
father’s hopes;—you crushed a thousand unuttered expec¬ 
tations in his mother’s heart: and his sisters grew pale at 
the blow with which you, in the invisible malevolence of 
your sympathy, had dashed all their buoyant prospects in 
their brother’s ruin. But did this wanton burglary enrich 
you ? The robbers in the parable carried home something, 
perhaps, to give their children. Hid you make a dividend 
of the spoils of that neighbour’s credit among your children? 
Hid your favourite daughter get a new piano, or another 
quarter at the boarding school, as her share of the wreck 
you made of his character. And, to crown all, you affected 
regret at his bankruptcy! Oh, what a neighbour!! 


BUYING A BROTHER FROM BONBAGE. 

The ransom of Frederic Houglass from slavery has been 
recently purchased at a great price by the contributions of 
philanthropic persons in England, and the last bond of his 
bondage has been severed, and he is free. What a fact to 
contemplate! While he was leading captive earnest multi¬ 
tudes by his powerful eloquence ; whilst the great congre- 



86 


TO THE STEAMER HIBERNIA. 


gation felt enchanted by liis wonderful might of mind, and 
bowed to its resistless sway ; whilst the first intellects in 
England were doing reverence to his, with perhaps un¬ 
conscious and instinctive homage; whilst thousands in the 
common walks of freedom felt him to be a master, and 
themselves almost slaves to his over-mastering genius; 
all this while he was legally a slave ! a slave on every foot 
of land in the American Union! a slave as he left the 
crowded hall between ranks of English freemen, w T ho bowed 
as he passed ! a slave in the presence of the great and good 
who arose and stood up in reverence as he entered ! And 
there are nearly three millions more of brothers and sisters, 
as nearly related to God by blood, and to man by creation, 
as the straitest-haired of human kind, now lying in slavery, 
in American slavery,—a bondage far beyond that of Hebrew 
vassalage in Egypt, for qualities of suffering and degrada¬ 
tion. Well has Douglass said, that American slavery was 
too strong for the moral power of one nation to abolish ; it 
will require that of the English race in both hemispheres. 


TO THE STEAMER HIBERNIA , 

Which sailed from Boston on the 16th of June, bearing the n^vs ot 
the settlement of the Oregon Question. 


PEACE ! PEACE ! PEACE ! 

How beautiful on the mountains, and on the mountain 
billows, are the feet, and the canvass wings, that carry good 
tidings of great joy to all nations ! On, good Hibernia ! 
the word of peace thou bearest to the toiling myriads of 



IS HE MY BROTHER? 


87 


the British isle, is worth the freight of a thousand argosies 
from Inde. On! the blue sea has caught the secret of thy 
message, and these are its Sabbath waves that strew r thei r 
white banners in thy glittering path. These June breezes, 
too, have come to “ quire” like spirit-doves, to thy snowy 
wings; and the sunbeams are tasselling every rope with 
olive branches of diamond light. On! thou Columbus of 
Universal Brotherhood. Thou art the officiating minister 
at the marriage of two worlds, good Hihernia. Thou bearest 
the wedding ring, and all the blue leagues of ocean between 
the poles shall celebrate the nuptials and rejoice in the 
wedlock of the two great continents of humanity. On ! the 
golden fleece is thine, and of its locks commerce shall inter¬ 
weave the nations in a network beyond the severance of 
sharpened steel. On! thou hast found the shortest passage 
to the extremest Inde, to the earthly Canaan of the race 3 
flowing with milk and honey. 


IS HE MY BROTHER? 

What ! shall I regard that poor black slave that is toiling 
in the sugar-mill or cane-field a brother ? and that miserable 
drunkard who is lying in the gutter, a brother ? and that 
vile criminal who is lying in prison for murder, a brother ? 
and that wild lunatic frothing at his mouth for madness, a 
brother? In what sense a brother? In just that sense 
and degree, friend, that God is father, you must be a 
brother to the most wretched and degraded being on earth, 
and he a brother to you. 



S8 


THE SPIRIT OF CHRIST IN " EXTREME CASES.” 

All the sentiments and actions of Jesus Christ, whilst 
on earth, were the fruits of the spirit that was in him. 
What being ever passed through more “ extreme cases ” 
than he ? But did the spirit that was in him change 
with the exigencies of his condition ? Hid it bring forth 
different fruits in the different latitudes of his passage 
from the manger to the cross ? Were not those qualities 
of character which he blessed on the mount, the same 
that he manifested in the sublimest degree of perfection, 
before Pilate’s bar, and between the two thieves on the 
accursed tree? If, then, the fiercest trials that assaulted 
him ; if the bitterest draughts of malice, scorn, injury, 
and suffering, which were forced upon his lips; if all 
the malignant forms of ignominy .and wrong, which he 
endured, could not pale for a moment his glowing spirit 
of love, or ruffle its pure heaven with an emotion of 
anger or ill-will toward a single human being; then, I ask, 
can any “ extreme cases'' change, in the heart of the 
fruit-bearing Christian, the same spirit that was in Christ ? 
And if he abide in Christ, as the branch in the vine, he 
must be pervaded with that spirit. It will find its 
way into all his sentiments and actions. They will all 
partake of its qualities; which, the apostle says, are 
“ love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, 
aith, meekness,” Let the wild olive of human nature 

bear what it may, these are the only fruits which the spirit 
of Christ will bear in any clime, or age, or condition of 
humanity ; and if any man have not this spirit, and bear 
not this kind of fruit, “ he is none of His.” 

The same apostle testifies to the eternal and ubiquitous 
the aggravations of his civil and social rights, if all 


THE ONLY SOURCE OF TRUE MORAL POWER. S3 

uniformity of the fruits of this spirit, when he declares 
that “ neither principalities, nor powers, nor things present, 
or to come, shall be able to separate us from the love of 
God, which is in Christ.” The love of God is no insu¬ 
lated sentiment in the human soul. It is never found 
unassociated with the love of our brother whom we have 
seen. Love to our human brethren is the earthward 
reflection of the heart filled with the lisdit and the life 

O 

of the love of God. And if the heart emits no love¬ 
lighting beams toward man, we may rest assured that the 
side it turns toward God is cold and dark. “ He that 
dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.” 
Then all true Christians on earth, however they may be 
divided by mountains, seas, or oceans, or by the most 
obstinate barriers of nationality, must dwell in love, if they 
have in them the spirit of Christ. And if they dwell in 
love, they will dwell in God, and God in them. And if 
God is one , must they not dwell together in unity ? Can 
aught separate them whilst dwelling in his love? Can 
they divide Christ against himself, or his spirit into hostile 
factions? The first great truth embraced in the apostle’s 
declaration would have been complete, if he had said, 
“ neither principalities, nor powers, nor things present, 
or to come, shall be able to separate us for, by the 
constitution of God’s nature, those who dwell in his love 
cannot be separated. They must dwell together in the 
unity of the spirit of Christ. 


THE ONLY SOURCE OF TRUE MORAL POWER, 

Peace is but the sunshine of love ; and Christian love 
is the only moral power which is in the world for doing 



90 


PULLING DOWN THE OLD CHURCH. 


good, for overcoming evil and enemies. And all this 
power comes from God through those who dwell in his 
love. There is no other medium of communication by 
which this power can be given to the world, except 
through the hearts of those who abide in Christ, as the 
branch abides in the vine. And, consequently, one of the 
greatest disasters that could befal humanity would be 
inevitable, should principalities or powers succeed in 
detaching all the true Christians in the world from the 
source of their spiritual existence; for all institutions, 
enterprises, and thoughts of true benevolence would die 
out of the community. The moral power which is lost 
to the world by a war of seven years can hardly be 
recovered in seventy years of peace. The moral power 
that was lost to America by the revolutionary war, has 
not yet been recovered. Had it not been for that bloody 
period of general demoralization, Slavery would long 
ere this have been swept from its soil. The only hope 
of human progress is in the unbroken abiding of human 
hearts in the love of God. And thanks be to God 
who giveth us the victory, neither principalities or powers 
have ever succeeded in separating all human hearts at 
once from that source of moral power ; otherwise black¬ 
ness of darkness would have veiled the heavens of humanity 
with midnight gloom. 


PULLING DOWN TIIE OLD CHURCH. 

■**' * T \ 

The ropes were all adjusted, and there was an affecting 
silence through the motly group of old and young that had 
come together to witness the scene. Not a word was uttered 



PULLING DOWN THE OLD CHURCH 


91 


while the carpenter, with a reluctant hand, was passing his 
saw through the heart of the last of the gigantic posts of 
the old house of God. There was a kind of awe-inspiring 
influence creeping over every heart, as the venerable sanc¬ 
tuary stood tottering and reeling in the breeze. True, a 
more beautiful house had been erected in the centre of the 
village, and the old superannuated edifice was doomed by 
common consent to be demolished. 

The young men of the hamlet had engaged with alacrity 
in the service, and all was now ready for the closing scene. 
The patriarchs of the village had come up to take the last 
look of that ancient house of prayer, which had been to 
them for more than half a century, the nearest gate to 
heaven. I was then but a bov, but well can I remember 
how many of those old fathers turned away their faces and 
wept on their staves, as they witnessed the progress of the 
sad preparations. Their bosoms were full of the most 
touching associations that can affect the human heart. 
There they stood, immovable as statutes, while the old 
dismantled church was trembling, and reeling, and nodding 
towards them, as if entreating their interposition, or reprov¬ 
ing the sacreligious hands that were sapping its foundations. 
It had survived all the first settlers of the village, and most 
of their children, who, through all the years of their trials 
and tribulations, had assembled there for Divine communion 
and consolation. Thither had they resorted in their man¬ 
hood for spiritual direction and in frosty age, and thence 
gone down to their long homes, in a little enclosure a few 
rods distant. The venerable pastor, after having seen 
most of his flock gathered to their respective dust, had also 
been laid at the head of the silent congregation. The few 
that remained of his time, now lingered around like grieved 
spectres, beneath the old oaks that were bowing their aged 
heads, as if in sympathy with their doomed contemporary. 


92 


BIBLE HEROES AND BIOGRAPHY. 


There they stood, mournful and silent. There were long 
reaching souvenirs kindling up in their aged breasts until 
their hearts burned and bled within them. They heard 
not the groaning and creaking timbers ; but their spirits 
seemed listening to the long lost tones that once filled that 
venerable sanctuary. 

“All’s ready ! ” shouted the carpenter, stepping hastily 
backwards a few yards. “All’s ready ! ” passed along the 
ropes in a doubtful undertone. The old church paused for 
a moment from its oscillation before the wind, as if feeling 
a new force. It groaned, tottered, quivered, and then a 
blinding cloud of dust arose, followed by a crash that made 
the ground tremble beneath our feet, and it was all over. 

As soon as it had cleared away, I looked for those vene- 
rable fathers who had so enlisted my sympathy. They 
were still leaning upon their staves, contemplating the heap 
of ruins, without uttering a word. I looked again, and 
they were gone. I never saw them more. 


BIBLE HEROES AND BIOGRAPHY. 

The heroes of sacred history needed no Homer or 
Ossian to give their deeds an immortal memory. In the 
august simplicity of inspired nature, they were entered 
upon the record of humanity, and they will there grow 
brighter, till the history of the race shall be brought to a 
close. A few strokes of the inspired pen, impersonate a 
hero, whose remembrance shall be perpetuated to the 
remotest age of the future. Deeds of the loftiest patriotism 
and heroic daring, which would have filled a pagan Iliad, 



BIBLE HEROES AND BIOGRAPHY. 


93 


here shine forth with concentrated lustre in a few lines of 
simple narrative. No panegyric lengthens out a biography; 
the halo ot each great act is a spontaneous emanation of its 
own nature, and not an artificial corruscation of the pencil. 
The majesty ot description is the reflection of the described ; 
it is not the majesty of language. If the poetry towers, 
toto cceloy above the genius of the inspired muse, we see 
the God of nature in it, and ascribe it to the theme and not 
the writers. The human heart, with all its vicissitous 
passions; human society, with all its varying phrases; 
human government, with all its changing conditions ; all 
move before the eye, even of childhood, in simple consecu¬ 
tive pictures, where the portraits are persons, and the 
scenes and things, unpainted things of present life. In 
contemplating them, we never see the painter, nor detect 
a stroke of his pencil; we never think of him, nor dream 
that we are standing in a gallery of portraits, but in the 
midst of a congregation of living men. 

In pursuing the different writings of the Old Testament 
or the New, no question of authorship occurs to our nsinds 
to trouble or interest us When we read the powerful 
pages of Junius, we are uneasy to know who he was, and 
what he wrote before and after that wonderful production. 
We find ourselves unconsciously groping after the writer 
himself, to identify his corporeal existence, as if he were 
not living integrally in his gigantic thoughts. But in 
turning over the books of sacred Scripture, we lose sight 
of authors; we institute no comparisons ; analyze no style ; 
individualize no diction. A radius of Divinity, emanating 
from God himself, runs through the whole, and we do 
not stop to enquire who was the author of Job, or whether 
he who at the head of the rescued hosts of Israel, sang that 
flowing song over the returning billows of the Red Sea, or 
i.inote the rock of the wilderness with the sceptre of God 5 


94 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL CELEBRATION AT BROOKLYN. 


was he who told in language, so beautifully simple, the 
touching story of Hagar, Esau, and Jacob, Joseph and his 
brethren. 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL CELEBRATION IN BROOKL\ r N. 

A DREAM. 

The event and scene of this grand juvenile celebration 
presented no sterile subject for the pencilling of an excited 
imagination. The scene which my fancy had painted, 
moved before my mind’s eye throughout the day. I thought 
I could see the youthful host moving before me by hundreds 
and thousands, with their peace-speaking banners floating 
on the breeze ; with music on their lips, and in their hearts, 
and upon their tongues, the benediction which the exulting 
angeUfc gave to the world at the birth of its Redeemer. 

The place of this beautiful spectacle was not barren of 
thrilling reminiscences. Sixty-tliree years ago, and almost 
the very rendezvous of that lovely multitude had been the 
scene where thousands of mutual foes had rushed into the 
deadly onset of battle. 

There, in view of the spot where a myriad of young 
and happy beings were to send up their hymns to their 
country’s God, beneath his over-arching heavens, their 
ancestors had done battle and died. 

While my mind was busy throughout the day portraying 
to itself the spectacle of this youthful multitude, it would 
involuntarily fill the back ground of the picture with the 
scenes of that bloody day when Washington marshaled his 
army for the battle of Brooklyn, 



SUNDAY-SCHOOL CELEBRATION AT BROOKLYN. 95 

But it was in the deep slumbers of the night that my 
excited fancy revelled among the incongruous and distorted 
visions of the actors and events of these two days so impor¬ 
tant in American history. 

That the earth beneath my feet was tremulous with a 
heavy hollow sound, as of the rumbling of subterranean 
thunder, was the first incident to my imagination. Then 
a low distant wailing came swelling and rolling along, until 
the heavens reverberated, and the earth shook with a cry, 
as of a world of human beings in agony. Sharp, piercing, 
unearthly shrieks were heard among the dreadful explosions 
of the deafening thunder. There was no sun, nor moon, 
nor stars in the heavens ; but clouds of horrid blackness 
rode along, just above the ground, and like incumbent 
Etnas, shot forth their tortuous, sulphuric flames; and 
the faint short cry for mercy, or the gurgling imprecation 
of the dying, told where the hissing thunderbolt had fallen. 

1 thought I was standing upon the heights of Brooklyn, 
with my knees tottering with mortal consternation at the 
terrific spectacle. Every inanimate object seemed finder 
the influence of a continuous earthquake ; half demolished 
edifices, spireless churches, trees and turrets were all in a 
state of frightful oscillation, like that of vessels moored by 
the shore of a tempestuous ocean. 

The harbour of New York, which I had so often con¬ 
templated with delight, was filled with black, roaring, 
mountain billows, from whose bloody summits scaly levia¬ 
thans would rear up their horned heads into the very 
clouds, and strike together their ponderous jaws, as if in 
defiance of the thunder-bolts. Here and there, tossing 
about upon the surges, the sulpuric blaze of the ignited 
clouds revealed broken-ruddered ships, with tattered sails 
of crape instead of canvass, and with blood trickling down 
their splintered masts. 

My imagination could not sustain this horrid sketch 


06 SUNDAY-SCHOOL CELEBRATION AT BROOKLYN. 

of her pencil; and the scene changed with the magic 
of a dream. 

I thought I tried to evade this diorama of horrors 
by flight; I thought I ran with the velocity of the winds 
from the scene, until I had reached the centre of a deep 
forest in the interior of Long Island. For a moment 
I thought I was safe; and I sat down by the foot of a 
tall pine to rest. All at once the roar of a thousand 
cannons and the shout of battle started me upon my feet. 
The earth trembled under the tramp of horses; the clash 
of swords and bayonets rang through the forest; shouts, 
imprecations, cries, and groans filled the air. I turned 
to flee • I dashed away again through the wood, 
when a company of men, with white frocks, rushed 
across my path ; their faces were familiar to me. 
I looked upon the front-pieces in their hats, and saw 
inscribed, “ The Fourteenth Regiment, Farmington Grena¬ 
diers.” They were those grey-headed veterans who had 
told me the story of that disaster a thousand times by 
my father’s fireside. I mingled with them, and we ran 
with our might through the forest. The swords of our 
pursuers were almost suspended over our heads ; when 
one of the company, who was running by my side, caught 
me by the arm, exclaiming with a faint voice, “ Take my 
gun, William,” and fell. It was a familiar voice; I 
stopped to raise him; the hot blood was pouring out of 
his cloven breast; it was my father ! I held up my hand 
fo shield off the descending sword of a giant Hessian; 
The next moment I was lying across my father’s body, and 
felt the blood welling out of my own bosom. Then a 
thousand spectre-like images moved and vanished before 
my eyes; the clang of the trumpet and clash of swords 
died away with the last sentiment of my existence. 

From a short interregnum of oblivion, I was awakened 
by the merry and melodious chime of a thousand bells, 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL CELEBRATION AT BROOKLYN. 97 

which seemed to me the prelude of the general resurrection. 
I opened my eyes upon the new scenes in which I was to 
participate. I was again standing upon the heights of 
Brooklyn, with a vista before me which seemed to extend 
into the regions of paradise. The harbour lay smiling 
before me like a vast immovable flood of translucent 
silver, with the reflected images of thousands of aerial 
songsters fluttering away down in its still depths. A 
tinted mellowed light, as of sunbeams reflected from 
polished gold, rested upon every edifice of the city. Hun¬ 
dreds of gilded spires ran up into the heavens, entwined 
with chaplets of flowers, which seemed to have budded 
and blossomed in the sky. Then all at once the careering 
birds were still; the bells ceased to sound ; when sud¬ 
denly the enchanting melody of myriads of voices arose 
from the green fields behind me. I looked around me ; 
it was the grand and closing scene in the drama, the 
chef-dC-oeuvre of my imagination. The armies of Ilowe 
and Washington were drawn up in two parallel lines 
vis-a-vis to each other, with a space of a few r yards 
between them, both headed by their generals, who sat 
upon their horses like equestrian statues. Not a motion 
nor a sign of life could be seen through the whole length 
of the two lines, which seemed to extend far beyond 
the scope of the eye. The two hosts stood as upright and 
immovable as if they were two parallel rows of petrifactions. 
Their arms no more glittered in the sun, but hung rusted 
and corroded by their sides. I looked upon Washington, 
as he sat upon his great white horse, opposite to the 
scarlet-coated Clinton; the same sublimity of expression, 
the same dignified suavity, appeared in his noble coun< 
tenance, but they were rather the sculptured lineaments 
of a marble statue, than those of a living being. The 
music, which had directed my eyes to this spectacle, came 


F 


08 


THE COMET. 


rolling on in a full tide of melody. I strained my eyes 
towards the end of the two motionless lines of martial 
spectres, and discerned the vanguard of a juvenile host, 
moving down that narrow space, with their fluttering ban¬ 
ners floating in the air. On, on they came by hundreds 
and thousands. 

They marched not to the sound of “ the piercing fife, 
or spirit-stirring drum,” but to such strains of music as were 
heard by the Magi of the East, while they followed the 
Star of Bethlehem. Each youth was dressed in garments 
of the purest white; each with a Bible bound to his breast, 
and with a frontlet of pearl bearing the inscription of his 
name, and that of his school and teacher. 

The youthful battallions, as they wheeled by the Father 
of his country, cast each a flower at his feet, and a sprig 
of cypress at those of his British foe. When the last 
rank of juvenile multitude had passed, the spectre armies 
vanished from my sight. 

The sound of the chuich-going bell of my own native 
village had interrupted the interesting scenes and incidents 
of my dream. 


THE COMET. 

Sister, what think you? For myself I thought it 
v&s the swaling candle of some tall angel, sent out upon 
his millennial errand of inspection through a thousand 
worlds, to see if gravitation had released a single atom 
.iiom the smallest satellite in space; if the revolving w r orlds 
still kept time, and no jarring note had broken the harmony 
ot their primeval music; to look at the axles of the planets 
and the poles of systems, if, by chance, they had become 



TIIE COMET. 


99 


friction-worn from measuring off the cycles of eternity : to 
pass the counter-sign of God among the heavenly hosts 
outfiling from his throne, and carry mutual and fraternal 
greetings from system to system, and to leave with each a 
token of an Eternal Father’s love. 

Nay, Emilia, gaze not upward in such pensive mood, with 
eyes roving longingly among the stars, as if the slender 
fillets of light they shred out upon the cold sky, were tie 
golden locks of the star-visiter, melting away in the still, 
pearly depths of the blue firmament. Grieve not, that one 
pair of human eyes may see that celestial messenger but 
once. Its visits, sure, are few and far between, like those 
of other things of light; but believe me, sister, it comes 
and looks upon the green or snow-clad earth as often, and 
as brightly too, as when it was wont to come with the 
morning stars to look down on Eden. And it will come 
again, when all the eyes, that can look at heaven now, have 
gone out like fainting stars, and left the rosy firmament 
cold and dead, which now glows beneath their merry light. 
Yes, it will come again; though its message be to other 
years and moons and stars shining upon generations yet 
unborn ; and, as at the unrecorded periods of by-gone time, 
they too will gaze admiring at this same star messenger, 
and sorrow perhaps like thee, when his flowing locks dis¬ 
appear in the calm, cold ocean of the sky. 

Strain thy eyes no more to follow its sapphire tresses, 
receding into those serene mysterious depths, which human 
eve may not fathom. Come, look at these common stars, 
that, like angels’ eyes, are gazing at thee. See, their 
twinkling light is filling the firmament with social rays that 
invite the spirit to their communion. “Tis a sweet fellow¬ 
ship, sister, to commune with the stars. The first human 
pair that looked upon these lesser lights communed with 
them, as with holy eyes looking from above to see that no 

f 2 


100 


THE WORLD IS GOVERNED TOO MUCH. 


hurtful breath should come across the Eden of their hearts 
to taint their innocence. 


THE WORLD IS GOVERNED TOO MUCH. 

We have seen this proposition hung out to the world on 
the broad pennant of some newspaper, the name of which 
we do not now remember. But, wherever, and with whom¬ 
soever it may have originated, it is an axiom of standing 
truth, appropriate, with all the compass and application of 
its veracity, to every region of the civilized world. 

The people, the universal democracy of Christendom, are 
so weakened by political divisions; by being penned up 
and fenced into jealous, hostile septs; so crushed out of all 
strength and dignity of fraternal unity by superincumbent 
mountains of nationalities, that, if truth could get at free 
speech under such circumstances, it would sum up its plea 
for humanity in the remonstrance, “The world is governed 
too much! ” 

To believe in the existence of one only living and true 
God is the basis of ail Christian faith and Divine revelation. 
All who pretend to any moral enlightenment believe in thi3 
fixed fact of Christianity. But there is another article of 
true Christian faith which they refuse to admit into their 
creed;—viz., that there is but one only living and true 
people on this earth, made of one blood by the one only 
living and true God, their Father, and constituted one only 
living and true brotherhood by ties of ineffaceable con¬ 
sanguinity. Now the very existence of nine tenths of the 
nationalities of Europe is arrayed, vi et armis, against this 
doctrine of natural religion. 



THE WORLD IS GOVERNED TOO MUCH. 


101 


The people are furrowed and cross-furrowed into belli¬ 
gerent patches of humanity by the ruinous ploughshare of 
discordant nationalities. They are not only governed too 
much, but are supporting ten times more governments than 
they ought to bear. One government, conducted on the 
right principles, would be enough for the whole continent 
of Europe. Under such a government the people would 
rise to the dignity of their great brotherhood. 

The crushing burden of supporting a hundred greedy, 
jealous, quarrelling nationalities would roll off from their 
shoulders, and they would find a home and a home market 
for all their affections, for the products of their labour, 
learning, skill and soil. Divide and conquer,” is one of 
the dynamics of home made tyranny, by which the Samson 
strength of the great people is wasted down to an impotence 
just fitted to the iron hand of despotism; by which they 
are subjugated and government-ridden to death. Here is 
the history of the whole matter. Some spirit of malice, 
afore thought, and of murder and misery after thought, 
creeps into the mind of the people, residing along the 
sources and banks of the same river—the Danube or the 
Rhine, for instance. The murderous infusion circulates and 
burns till a million of human hearts belch from their 
sulphureous craters a deluge of fiery madness on common 
humanity. 

The product of all this animosity, slaughter, home¬ 
burning and mutual impoverishment, is a couple of new 
governments saddled on the necks of the wasted, hate¬ 
breathing belligerents, which ride them by day and night, 
like the monster shouldered upon poor Sinbad. 

Just look at the people in Europe. Look at the rivers, 
the lands they water, and the course they run to the sea. 
Notice the peculiar distribution of nature’s deposit banks 
of uncoined specie, which she laid by in her subterranean 


102 


THE WOULD IS GOVERNED TOO MUCH. 


vaults for the hard hand of honest labour before man was 
made. See how she has prepared a continent with frater¬ 
nizing relations and interests for an unbroken continent of 
democracy; for the commerce and community of integral 
people; for free-trade between all members of the con¬ 
tinental family, who have anything to buy or to sell. 
Compare the natural productions of Northern with those of 
Southern Europe, and notice the highways which nature 
opened for the exchange of those productions, and for the 
social intercourse of those producers, before the trace of 
man’s hand or foot was left on that quarter of the globe. 
Now why may not the great people of Europe follow out 
this political economy of nature ? Why may not the Russian 
or Swedish labourer drive his waggon or sail his ship, laden 
with the products of his clime, skill, and labour, to any town 
on the European side of the Mediterranean, without a volume 
of passports, or a fleet of revenue cutters, or a posse of con¬ 
stables, chasing from river to river and port to port ? Why is 
it that the rivers of that continent, which no more belong to 
a nation than the ocean or the air, are locked up at their 
mouths, and dammed across a dozen times thence to their 
source by a chevaux de frise of tariffs, and every petty town 
in sight of navigable water, overlooked and overwatched by a 
custom-house, or a government toll-gate ? Must the govern¬ 
ment, essential to the well-being of that continental people 
suck the blood of commerce and labour at this rate to 
sustain its functions ? Must the people for ever spin out 
their vital substance, caterpillar-like, into a fretwork of 
hampering restrictions, taxing the very water they drink 
and the air they breath; thrusting a toll-gate across the 
windows of heaven and the chambers of the sun, that rain 
and dew, light and heat, may come through the custom¬ 
house with their dispensations of mercy ? Is all this world¬ 
consuming sacrifice necessary, not for the existence and 


ANTI-SLAVERY LEAGUE OF THE WORLD. 


103 


exercise of government, but for a proximity to the seat and 
source of government? Just as if the people, at a great 
distance from the seat of a righteous legislation, were in a 
cold, gloomy aphelion ; as if good laws were better at the 
capital than at the extremities of a nation ? 

Now then, we think it is susceptible of the clearest 
demonstration, that the impotent and degraded condition 
of the people of Europe comes from their being saddled 
with a multitude of petty governments and nationalities, 
all arming to the teeth against each other, and maintaining 
what they call a defensive attitude, at the cost of universal 
despotism, ignorance, and poverty to the people they pre¬ 
tend to govern and defend. 


ANTI-SLAVERY LEAGUE OF THE WORLD. 

Let the down trodden millions who groan beneath the 
heel of oppresion, look upward with hope, for the day of 
their redemption draweth nigh. When the nations of the 
world are fighting for liberty, there is no hope for the slave. 
The iron of bondage enters his soul the deeper for every 
human heart that is riven with the sword. Every battle, 
whether gained or lost by his master, strengthens the 
fetters around his chafed limbs. Wars breed all the lusts 
in which they originate. They generate a new stock of 
malignity in the world of selfishness, and of every disposi¬ 
tion unfavourable to humanity. 

We speak reverently; we respectfully touch our hat to 
public opinion ; but we cannot refrain from expressing our 
conviction, that neither the revolutionary nor the last 



104 ANTI-SLAVERY LEAGUE OF THE WORLD. 

war did anything for the slave in this country. Both 
deferred his emancipation and aggravated his hitter destiny. 
The morals of war and the war spirit have no quality of 
mercy in them. The passions excited and perpetuated by 
war, are no more conducive to true liberty than to true 
religion ; and we might as well fight for the love of God 
as for the love of humanity. The poor people of this 
world, as well as the poorer slaves, are never crushed so 
deep in the earth as under the feet of those who are fighting 
for their liberty. Wars and fightings can do no more for 
the abolition of slavery, than for the promotion of revivals 
of religion, or for the propagation of the gospel among the 
heathen. As nothing can more impede the work of Chris¬ 
tian missions, so nothing can be more destructive to the 
cause of universal freedom, than the spirit and act of war. 
Everything, then, that conduces to the brotherhood and 
peace of mankind, weakens the fetters on the limbs of the 
slave. God is love, and love is his omnipotence. “He 
that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God and God in him,” 
not only as a source of happiness, but as a source of omni¬ 
potence, of power to overcome evil and enemies with good. 
To this power, communicated from the heart of God to the 
hearts of loving men, every knee shall bow, both of things 
present and things to come, on this earth. Principalities 
and powers shall bow to it. It shall reach height and 
depth—the highest monarch and the lowest slave within 
the precints of humanity—and fill the yawning gulf that 
divides man and man. This is the only power given to 
men to pull down the strong holds of wrong and oppres¬ 
sion, and every new act or emotion of philanthropy adds to 
that power. Every new heart that is made to beat with 
kindly sympathies for its kind, is a new fountain of moral 
power, and adds to the capacity of the w'orld to overcome 
its evils with good. Every year of peace is swelling this 


ANTI-SLAVERY LEAGUE OF THE WORLD. 


lOo 


heart power by new acquisitions of strength. Every song 
of good will to men ; every hymn of joy that greets the 
light of Christianity in the far ocean isles ; the first stam¬ 
mering prayer of the converted Hindoo, Malay, or Poly¬ 
nesian cannibal; every new tear of sympathy given to the 
poor, or sentiment of humanity felt for the oppressed, adds 
each to the general fund of philanthropy, which is to sweep 
slavery from the earth, as by the waters of a deluge. 

Christianity, unaided and alone, is competent to combine 
all the diverse elements of humanity into one perfect 
brotherhood, and consequently banish slavery from the face 
of the earth. 

And Christianity would have effected this long ago, if 
its sublime doctrines had been preached and obeyed in .all 
their fulness and particularity of application. The Gospel 
contains the highest code of faith and morals given to men 
and angels. No being, “lessening down from infinite per¬ 
fection,” ever received a higher law than that given to the 
lowest of reasoning beings : “ Thou shalt love the Lord 
thy God with all thy soul, mind and strength, and thy 
neighbour as thyself.” That law will be no more binding 
in any age or condition of eternity, than at the present 
moment. If every being in the universe but one should 
break that great commandment, on that one would it rest 
with unimpaired obligation. If it were the only revelation 
from heaven to this world of violence and wrong, it would 
be enough to banish war, slavery, intemperance, and all their 
black progeny from among men. It would bring, if obeyed, 
all the nations of the earth into one happy family. Chris¬ 
tianity, the expression and application of this great law, 
would do all this, even if godliness had not the promise of 
this present life, and were not great gain ; even if commerce 
were arrayed against it, and all the pecuniary interests 
and constitutional disaffinites of mankind were opposed to 
m f 3 


106 


ANTI-SLAVEllY LEAGUE OF THE WORLD, 


their brotherhood. But heaven be praised i Christianity 
is not left alone in this great work. 

Commerce and the whole community of thinking minds 
are its co-workers ; its angels of peace and good will, 
flying far and near, whitening the seas with canvass wings; 
stringing the morning and evening sunbeams with bright 
and kindly thoughts towards man ; teaching the lightning 
the alphabet of human kindness and the converse of com¬ 
muning minds; working all the strong agencies of nature 
into softening, socializing influences to girdle into brother¬ 
hood the estranged factions of the human family. Com¬ 
merce, too, is coming to be evangelized, especially with 
this gospel, “ God hath made of one blood all nations of 
men.” Commerce is going to be emancipated! let all the 
bond men on the earth rejoice. Enslaved, fettered, down¬ 
trodden commerce is bursting the thraldom of her bondage! 
let the enslaved millions of the race rejoice, and sing aloud 
for joy, for their turn will come next. Commerce this year 
shall cut her cables and put out upon the sea of humanity, 
and on the wilderness of waters she shall be a voice crying 
like another John, “ Repent, for the Kingdom of God and 
and his righteousness are at hand. Prepare the way of the 
Lord, make his paths straight, that his ransomed may walk 
therein. Undo the heavy burdens from the necks of his 
children; break every yoke ; let the prisoner go free; let 
the hungry be fed and the naked be clothed, and enemies 
be friends ; let the valleys of humiliation and poverty be 
exalted, and the high places of despotism and monopoly be 
made smooth ; let our officers be peace and our exactors 
be righteousness ; for peace is prosperity, and righteous¬ 
ness exalteth a people, and brings a revenue into its 
treasury.” 

The commerce of the world has been in a state of civil 
war for the last century w r ith narrow-minded selfishness, 


ANTI-SLAVERY LEAGUE OF THE WORLD. 


107 


which has crippled it with restrictions. It is breaking now 
these Philistine withes, and when fairly unfettered, there 
will be such a free trade of thought; such a communi¬ 
cation and communion of sentiment with regard to human 
liberty ; such a fusion into brotherhood of kindred nations; 
the pent-up currents of sympathy will widen, deepen and 
quicken into such gulf-streams of common feeling; such 
an arterial and nervous system of susceptibilities will per¬ 
vade countries hitherto divided, transmitting through the 
whole a sentiment of pain at every outrage done to man ; the 
moral influence and the free-breathing genius of the great 
and good of other lands, will breath so free and full on 
the moral atmosphere of this continent, that slavery must 
die. That inhuman system cannot co-exist with the cen¬ 
tralizing idea and tendency of human brotherhood. That, 
and all the lesser concentric circles of the new solar system 
of humanity, will repudiate all sympathy with slavery. 
That sum and source of all villanies will find no favour or 
fellowship with any of the religious, scientific, social, or 
political organizations that may hereafter be formed in 
Christendom, That pampered Satan will not much longer 
be permitted to shew its head among the sons of God, 
either in person or by proxy. The world, civilized and 
pagan, is resolving itself into a great Anti-Slavery League, 
of which every religious, scientific and commercial asso¬ 
ciation will be a branch. It will take the moral power of 
the world to abolish the evil, and that power is fast arraying 
itself against it. 


108 


CIRCULATION OF RUM AND SLAVERY. 


CIRCULATION OF RUM AND SLAVERY. 

“ Then there passed by Midianites, merchantmen, and they drew 
and lifted up Joseph out of the pit, and sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites 
for twenty pieces of silver ; and they brought Joseph into Egypt.” 

The sons of Jacob did not sell their young and helpless 
brother into slavery for gain, but for envy, or for fear of 
his undue ascendancy in the affections and effects of their 
father, or of his acquisition of influence and power detri¬ 
mental to his brethren. The Anglo-Saxon race cannot 
quote the example of these unnatural sons of Jacob, to 
sanction the traffic which they have carried on with the 
white Midianites of English civilization—merchantmen, 
who qualify their human flesh-wares with no spicery, balm, 
or myrrh from Arabia, as did the Ishmaelites in the case 
of Joseph. They never sold their African brethren into 
bondage, from envy, jealousy, fear, or even malice ; but for 
the meanest of meanness; because they were weak and 
lowly esteemed in God’s human family ; for considerations 
which would have affected the roughest son of the patriarch 
with kindness and compassion toward his younger brother, 
if they could have been applicable to his case. But Divine 
justice has ordained that every chain of human bondage 
shall at last link the neck of the master to the foot of the 
slave. This inevitable condition was realized, in one of its 
bitterest qualities, in the origin, progress, and issue of the 
African slave-trade. We are assured that the very first 
article produced by the first ship load of slaves in the West 
India islands, was the raw material of rum. 

It seems the first instalment of the law of eternal 
right and retribution, that the first product of the slave’s 
labour should conceal a curse that in the end, and in the 
beginning too, should “ bite like a serpent, and sting like 


CIRCULATION OF RUM AND SLAVERY. 


10<) 


an adder,” those who enslaved him. From that moment, 
rum, the product of slave-labour, became the circulating 
medium of exchange at all human flesh markets, the 
currency, which, above all the lucre in mammon’s purse, 
would buy of African fathers and mothers their own off¬ 
spring, when they would scarcely sell a kid for gold. The 
“ magnetic circuit ” of rum was now established. Dis¬ 
tilleries began to redden the night with their Moloch fires 
throughout the United States; and the work of desolation 
and death commenced. Scarcely a house escaped, which 
had not mourned a victim—a father, husband, a firstborn, 
or lastborn slain, as the destroying-angel never slew in 
Egypt. But this was the home department of the curse, 
embracing its domestic incidents. The electric fluid passed 
on. It fired the fierce lusts of the Africans, and from one 
end of the continent to the other, with a craving their own 
slow liquors could not kindle. “ Rum ! rum !! ” was the cry 
of these poor imbruted heathen—rum to cool their parched 
appetites, burning with the fever of new passions. “ Flesh ! 
flesh! ! ”—your prisoners, your neighbours, your fathers, 
sons and daughters, any or all, give us “ flesh of your 
flesh, and bone of your bone,” was the cool, smiling, pre¬ 
meditated reply of the men of the Anglo-Saxon civilization. 
And for this mess of red pottage, which Satan would 
scarcely have given to him who asked a stone, men, women, 
and children, were bought and borne to the cane fields of 
the Yv T est Indies. And there they planted, and tilled, and 
trod out the curse in a wine-press of fiery indignation to 
their Christian enslavers. The American distilleries burnt 
fierce by day and night. Their worm died not on the holy 
Sabbath. On that hallowed day, when all things else, with 
any quality of goodness or salvation in them, rested, the still- 
worm—twin-born reptile with the worm that never dies—the 
American still-worm, worked on with the infernal energy ot 


110 


ICELANDIC LITERATURE. 


its kind. It worked on while those wdio lived by its profits 
were singing psalms in the house of God. It worked on 
like sin, and for the wages of sin. It wmrked on while all 
honest things were still, and night hung heavy on the 
world. It worked on to feed appetites it had kindled, 
which would wake on the morrow, and cry—Give ! give !! 

A cry for rum came from the African coast; and rum 
had a better market than gold abroad ; and the still-worm 
worked on under the stimulus of new fires. There was 
a grand amnesty of all restrictive duties, a universal dis¬ 
pensation of grace, in favour of rum. Any American product, 
with a grain of health or nutriment in it, was taxed most 
onerously at all British ports. But rum, to buy slaves with 
in Africa, was entitled to the most liberal debenture; and 
American distilleries coined slave-money for British slave- 
traders as well as their own. The flags of the two nations, 
with their stars, stripes, and crosses, became the livery of 
slave trappers, and of their agents. Liverpool and Bristol 
became the stations of transhipment, the grand junction in 
the circuit of rum and slavery. Every cargo of rum landed 
in Africa, made more slavery in America; more slavery 
made more rum to enslave the enslavers on its way to 
Africa, to buy more slaves. Thus intemperance spread 
with the virulence of the other plagues which it unvialled 
upon the earth at the same time. 


ICELANDIC LITERATURE. 

The idea of an Icelandic literature proposes a fact as re¬ 
markable as the settlement itself of that inhospitable island. 
And it is not its least interesting feature, that it has not 
drawn its essential elements from facts of common history, 



ICELANDIC LITERATURE. 


Ill 


but that it presents us the only medium of acquaintance 
with the history of a portion of the human race peculiarly 
excluded from any active participation in the movements of 
the rest of the world. 

The first settlers of Iceland, actuated equally by a heroic 
spirit of adventure, and an ardent aspiration for more unre¬ 
stricted freedom, had ventured onward upon an uncharted 
ocean, until almost upon the borders of the New Yforld, 
the flaming summit of Heckla revealed to them a home 
and an asylum beyond the reach of the despot, and the 
cupidity of the conqueror. There, under the shadow of 
mountains that lifted their everlasting bulwarks of ice 
against the sky, or set the clouds on fire with their volcanic 
flames, these hardy adventurers found herbage sufficient 
for their herds, which soon became their principal means of 
subsistence. Although they thus enjoyed all the peace and 
simplicity of the pastoral life, the natural peculiarities of 
the country precluded the wandering character of the 
nomades. The island was so intersected with morasses 
and icebergs, that the shepherd was often necessarily merged 
in the agriculturist, and his crook converted into the mattock 
or spade, as it became requisite to reclaim and fertilize his 
meadow land or pasturage. Continual accessions of new ad¬ 
venturers from the mother country, disseminated a multi¬ 
tude of little communities over the habitable parts of the 
island ; each represented by its chief in the councils of 
their rude republic, which they had immediately instituted 
to regulate the conditions of their civil life and social inter¬ 
course. 

Thus shut out from the stormy theatre of the great 
world ; scattered over one of the most inhospitable islands 
on the globe ; separated into little colonies by intervening 
barriers which seemed to have remained there from the 
birth of time; obliged to economise and improve the 


112 


ICELANDIC LITERATURE. 


meagre provisions which nature had there made for the 
sustenance of man and beast; it were natural to suppose, 
that, under such circumstances, they would soon have de¬ 
preciated from the warlike character and the indomitable 
spirit of adventure, which so distinguished the northern 
hordes of Europe. But such was not the case. The Ice¬ 
landers, from the very nature of their civil and social insti¬ 
tutions, perpetuated, in more than primeval vigour, the 
marked characteristics of their ancestors. And all the fire 
of patriotism, and of freedom, and the chivalric energy ot 
a heroic age, as if fed at the crater of Heckla, or rekindled 
by the nightly fires of their own polar sky, glowed and 
burned on among their icebergs, when they seemed to have 
gone out for ever in the father land. Each of their little 
communities maintained the character, and, almost literally, 
the connection of a single family. 

The Scandinavian patriarch, who presided at their head, 
still felt the blood of a long succession of heroes stirring 
in his veins. The feats of his youth and manhood, and 
the prowess of his ancestors, were recited and sung beneath 
a common roof, or in the convivial hall, till hearts caught 
fire at the tale. From another seat at the rustic board or 
fire-side, another, whose head was frosted with fewer winters, 
spoke of wars beyond the seas,—of the bended bow, and the 
braying trumpet,—of fields fought, won, or lost; of encounter 
“ In angry parlance with the sledded Pole,” 
with the tartaned Scot, or the steel-clad Southron. 

Then there were those that told of journeyings in lands 
close under the sun; where perennial verdure clad both hill 
and dale,—where no snows fell, nor sleet, nor any biting 
breath from icy wastes passed by, but where all w r as soft 
and serene ; where the air that had tasted of the honey of 
delicious fruits, and dallied with an Eden full of flowers, 
breathed on the cheek and fanned the brow. 


ICELANDIC L1TKKATUK2. 


113 


Another took up a tale of hairs-breadth escapes among 
dark Norse mountains which the sun scarcely ever looked 
at; of leaps “o’er precipices huge, smoothed up with 
snow; ” of great fiery eyeballs of howling wolves, peering 
out of deep, dark caverns, and deadly clutches with the 
Northern Bear. Next came those, who could tell of perils 
hard upon the breaking gulf; of broken-ruddered vessels 
tossed upon the billows of the Northern seas, or dashed 
among the icebergs, or upon the ice-girdled rocks of some 
desert island; of ventures among the Orkneys, the Faroe 
Islands, and along the coasts of Scotland. 

Such were the winter evening entertainments of each of 
these little Icelandic communities of which we have spoken ; 
nor could they have failed to lay the foundation of their 
peculiar national character and literature. They inspired a 
hankering for deeds of daring and hardy enterprize, and. the 
bark of the Icelander w r as often seen dancing over the 
waters of the Northern Ocean, in quest of some adventure 
which should transmit his name and renown to posterity in 
story or in song. In almost every kingdom of Europe, 
these erratic knights of the frigid zone distinguished them¬ 
selves in stations of honour and trust. And when laden 
with the munificent rewards of their valour and virtue, they 
again turned their prows towards their storm-beaten eyry 
amid the far frosty waves, their arrival was hailed as a 
matter of national interest; and the history of their ad¬ 
venturers, interspersed with brief notices of many of the 
leading events of their time, was incorporated into the 
archives of the nation, and furnished material for their 
Sagas, and a new theme for their bards. Their favourite 
element, like that of the ancient Greeks, was the sea; and 
many important discoveries early repaid their adventures 
upon its bosom. The outposts and suburbs of a New 
World were first revealed to these early navigators from the 


114 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


Ultima Thule of the Old. The discovery of Greenland—■ 
thus called, as the Icelandic historian so naively affirms, 
that it might readily decoy thither colonists from a land ot 
snow and ice—furnished them a rendezvous and starting 
point for a more extended chain of discoveries along the 
coast of the new continent. These were what might be 
called the Argonautic expeditions of the Icelanders; 
fraught to them with thrilling interest in all their details, 
which are preserved in their histories, apparently with mi¬ 
nutest accuracy. Such were the sources of that important 
and interesting department of Icelandic literature, their 
Sagas, or narratives of the lives and adventures of their most 
distinguished men. 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

It was a bright and happy day, and in the serene, pure 
air, there was the music of birds, and bells, and bugles, 
and sonorous instruments of brass, and the windy suspira- 
tion of forced sheepskin, and wooden tubes blown into later¬ 
ally, diagonally, and perpendicularly, until they screamed 
with melodious agony. And, treading heavily to the 
measure of this martial noise, there came a band of men 
disguised beyond detection of their mothers’ eyes, in parti¬ 
coloured clothes and trappings fiercely red; and, for the 
pointed and polished tubes of iron they carried bolt up¬ 
right against their shoulders, they in the distance seemed 
a walking grove of lightning-rods fretting in the sun. 
In the middle of the street they marched; and, fright¬ 
ened at the noisy gravity of their tread, the subtile dust 
arose and fled upon the more subtile element above. 



THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


115 


Aloft tliey bore a large and languid piece of gilded 
drapery, in which enfigured a sleepy eagle looked wistfully 
upward to some golden stars and stripes of different hues 
wrought in the silken firmament, seeming to say, “Were 
it not for these cannons, anchors, and arrows in my talons 
grasped, that weigh my pinions down, my outstretched 
wings should cleave the air and seek an eyry above the 
pother of these human men. 

’Twas wondrous, and manv wondered much, to see what 
feats of complex motion the human feet could do under the 
inspiration of fife and drum. And many marvelled more, 
that those glittering iron tubes could be handled in such 
diverse and dexterous fashions, and that men could be 
trained to all the sober system of well dressed machinery. 

And many ears, of lengths diverse, were startled, when 
those iron things, intoxicated "with the dun spirit of salt¬ 
petre, spit forth their fiery, sententious clamour at the 
setting sun, to which echo, awaking from its slumbers in 
the waving woods, sent back a deep encore ! 

And when the merry morning, with tresses jeweled with 
the silver dew, looked out from the summer drapery of the 
eastern sky, it smiled on half a dozen furlongs of little, 
happy human beings, scarce three feet high, the wealth of a 
thousand happy hearts, marching in sunny-hearted couples 
to the grove, where the robins and all the singing birds 
were fluting forth their matin songs. 

They came, the little things, with steps so gentle as scarce 
would shake the dewdrop from the tender blade; they 
came with their bosoms and burnished tresses full of modest 
meadow flowers. In every cheek nature had diffused a 
rose perennial, which the playful zephyrs kissed and the 
sunlight of doting eyes deepened as they passed. For 
every eye that looked on them, had a blessing glistening 
in it; and the hearts that owned them were swelling with 


THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE. 


no 

bliss enough to make a heaven of. And their little banners 
fluttered on the morning breeze, figured over with life-like 
images of sparkling fountains, cascades, and crystal springs, 
and moss-grown wells, and oaken buckets pendent from 
long, stone-ballasted well-sweeps, with cold, pellucid water 
drops, dripping from their moss-edged brims, making one 
dry to look at them; and winged and wingless angels, with 
pitchers full of God’s best beverage, cooling the parched 
lips of some poor errant being who had burnt his heart up 
with fiery liquors. It was a cold water army, not known 
in Bonaparte’s day, but had it been at Waterloo, it would 
have marched straight through the bearded Cossacks and 
driven the hostile armies to another field. 


THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE. 

Knowledge cannot be stolen by or from you. It cannot 
be sold or bought. You may be poor, and be troubled by 
the sheriff on the journey of life. He may break into 
your house and sell your furniture at auction; drive 
away your cow ; take away your ewe lamb, and leave you 
homeless and pennyless ; but he cannot lay the law’s hand 
upon the jewelry of your mind. This cannot be taken for 
debt; neither can you give it away, though you give 
enough of it to fill a million minds. I will tell you what 
such giving is like. Suppose now that there were no sun 
nor stars in the heavens, nor any thing that shone in the 
black brow of night, and suppose that a lighted lamp were 
put. into your hand, which should burn wasteless and clear 
amid all the tempests that should brood upon this lower 
world. Suppose next, that there were a thousand millions 
of human beings on the earth with you, each holding in 



CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. 


117 


his hand an unlighted lamp, filled with the same oil as 
yours, and capable of giving as much light. Suppose 
these millions should come, one by one, to you and light 
each his lamp at yours ; would they rob you of any light ? 
would less of it shine on your own path ? would your lamp 
burn more dimly for lighting a thousand millions ? 

Thus it is, young friends. In getting rich in the things 
which perish with the using, men have often obeyed to the 
letter that first commandment of selfishness ; ” Keep what 
you can get, and get what you can.” In filling your 
minds with the wealth of knowledge, you must reverse 
this rule, and obey this law; “ Keep what you give, and 
give what you can.” The fountain of knowledge is filled by 
its outlets, not by its inlets. You can learn nothing which 
you do not teach; you can acquire nothing of intellectual 
wealth except by giving. In the illustration of the lamps 
which I have given you, was not the light of the 
thousands of millions which were lighted at yours, as much 
your light as if it all came from your solitary lamp 1 
Did you not dispel darkness by giving away light ? 

Remember this parable, and whenever you fall in with 
an unlighted mind in your walk of life, drop a kind and 
glowing thought upon it from yours, and set it a burning in 
the world with a light that shall shine in some dark place 
to beam on the benighted. 


CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. 

Sober Christians, discreet philanthropists, men of learn¬ 
ing, of intelligent piety,—men versed in the love of the Bible, 
in the law of nations, in the law of love, in the law of 
God,—are coming to feel that it is time that these dreadful 



118 


CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. 


spectacles that are enacted in counterfeit presentment of 
revenge, shall be displaced by a mode of punishment more 
efficient to suppress the crime of murder, and less tending 
to degrade the public morals. 

The charge of heresy or infidelity will not intimidate 
them, or frighten them from this opinion. Most of 
them are familiar with the history of Bible arguments, 
from the time of our Saviour down through the dark 
ages to the present hour. From age to age, they know 
that men have never been wanting who were ready to 
say with Satan, “ it is written ; ” and others who ventured 
to say with Jesus Christ, “it is also written.” The Bible 
will ever be open to those who appeal to it for a sanction 
of some system of morals or government to which their 
interests or opinions are committed. Such have ever 
found, and, perhaps, always will find, many isolated 
passages within its blessed lids which might be construed 
into the object of their search. The discovery may have 
prompted them to exclaim, in the eager tones of an ancient 
philosopher, eureka ! eureka ! or, in the language of one 
more ancient still, “ it is written! it is written ! ” but when 
that system w r as found to be inherently, morally, socially, 
and politically wrong, those who could read the Bible with 
the spirit of the gospel, readily found its Divine refutation 
in plenty of passages where “ it was also written.” Thus 
it will probably be to the end of time. Arguments drawn 
from the Scriptures, and thought to be unanswerable, will 
he opposed to reformation in morals and science. For 
a time, they will stand unanswered and unresisted; but, 
at last, they will yield to others from the same source; 
and, like the uncertain rays of the morning, which, after a 
few moments of delusive radiance, are swallowed up in the 
ocean of noon-day light, they also will be merged in the 
heavenly effulgence of the gospel of God, which, unlike 


MORAL SUASION. 


119 


our temporal sun, shall never set upon the continent of 
humanity, never come to its meridian, till, like the upper 
temple of heaven, the mansions of the blest, and the 
inquiring minds of His children, are filled with light. 


MORAL SUASION. 

One of our exchanges, engaged in the anti-slavery cause, 
regrets that we do not confine our sentiments and efforts to 
the sphere of moral principle and suasion., We should infer, 
from his remarks, that his principal objection to political 
action was not based upon any constitutional immorality 
inhering to its nature or exercise. On the contrary, if the 
blood bought right of suffrage had not been perverted into 
an engine of crushing wrong; if it had never been prosti¬ 
tuted in this country, to the narrow policy of unprincipled 
ambition ; if it had never been drilled into the service of 
oppression, to turn the bondman’s yoke into iron, and shut 
out the slave from the reach of*emancipation ; if, in a word, 
that high born prerogative had remained as pure, as akin to 
Christian principle, as when, in sight of our rock-bound 
shore, the pilgrim fathers assembled on the deck of the 
May-flower, and, at the first ballot-box that was ever opened 
in the New World, brought their religion, their great and 
stern principles of freedom “ into politics ; ” then our 
friend, we are sure, would deem the suffrage of freemen, 
Christians, and patriots to be the giant hand of moral 
sentiment, mighty through God, to the pulling down of 
strong-holds of oppression; mighty to pluck up these 
seated hills of iniquity that are resting upon the bosom of 
humanity, to tear from the virgin soil of this land of the free 



120 


MORAL SUASION. 


this rank Upas, whose roots and poisonous shade are 
insiduously expanding from ocean to ocean, carrying its 
sallow curse to regions unredeemed from the primeval 
wilderness of nature. 

We admit that the ballot-box has given the institution of 
slavery an almost overwhelming power in this republic; 
that it has endowed it with an immortal principle of vitality 
and self-propagation, which all our institutions of religion 
and learning have never been able to check or suppress. 
We confess that it was not a mere arbitrary custom of 
society, nor a complacent habit of voluntary concession, 
that put into the hands of the slave-holder the invidious 
prerogative of the three-fifths system, by which he might 
overpower or nullify the suffrage of a hundred poor, 
virtuous freemen, who could not buy or hold the elements 
of representation in the blood and sinews of chattelised 
man. It was the ballot-box that did this strange w r ork. 
It was the ballot box that inflicted, in cruel mockery upon 
the slave, a negative quality of suffrage, bought in him by 
his master, and only designed to make him more of a beast 

and free men more like slaves. But if this moral and 

% 

political engine possesses such a giant capacity for evil, shall 
we throw it aside as being impotent for good ? Does the 
engineer on the railroad or steam-boat doubt the retrograde 
capacity of his engine, because he has accustomed it to an 
advance motion ? 

Let us illustrate our friend’s position in a figure con¬ 
taining all the necessary analogies. On some extended 
plain in South Carolina imagine a vast Bastile, whose 
granite walls and iron gates surpass old Babylon’s in 
height and strength. Suppose that it had taken the 
labour of two centuries to erect the Egyptian prison-house, 
and that millions of masons, hewers of stone, and workers 
in iron and steel, had been employed in raising the edifice. 


MORAL SUASION, 


121 


in building its dungeons, and forging chains and manacles 
for the victims within. Grant that a thousand engines 
oi diversified character and power, and iron bars, and 
chains of ponderous links, and implements of everv shape 
and size, had been used in quarrying and raising to their 
place those colossal blocks of granite, and forging those 
huge and hardened grates. The bastile is finished, its 
dungeons and cells and fetters are filled with nearly three 
millions of human beings, bom in our midst. The world 
is at last arrested at the sight half-revealed through the 
grates and loop-holes of that awful prison. 

The cries and groans and death-sighs of the captives 
are wafted to the ears of the free, the humane, and the 
good ; on every morning and evening breeze they assemble 
by thousands around the walls of the prison ; through the 
grates a million of fettered hands, the hands of little 
infants and haggard mothess and helpless fathers are 
reaching out imploringly for help. The surrounding mul¬ 
titude is swelling in number, and swaying to and fro with 
sympathy and indignant emotion. All are moved witli 
one great resolve to level the towering walls of the colossal 
prison. But with their bare hands they cannot remove 
a stone ; and they look about for means to effect the work. 
There stand the great engines that lifted from the moun¬ 
tain-side the huge foundation-stones of that edifice. There 
they stand, ready and able, if employed, to rip up again 
those foundations, and level those Babylonish walls to the 
earth, or drag them into the sea. A part of the indignant 
multitude rush forward to seize those battering rams, when 
the rest set up the cry, “ Hold ! hold ! Touch not those 
dreadful engines, for they are the very ones that built this 
horrid bastile. Touch not those bars and chains, nor any 
of the iron machinery that were employed in sinking those 
dungeons, rearing those walls, and capturing and fettering 

G 


122 NATURAL PROVISIONS FOR PEACE. 

three millions of men, women, and children in that gloomy 
prison. No; touch them not! they have been the instru¬ 
ments of oppression. The levelling of those iron ramparts 
is a moral question, and moral means alone must be em¬ 
ployed. Let go that iron machine, and we will melt down 
those adamantine walls with moral suasion. Come! and 
as the bands of Israel marched round the walls of Jericho, 
so we will march around the bastile, and sing psalms and 
pray, and make pious demonstrations of faith on ram’s 
horns, and sounding brass, till yon high bastions fall.” 
For, though Joshua and every warrior of Israel marched 
around that ancient city, and over its demolished bulwarks, 
with his drawn sword in his hand, yet he might have made 
a moral question of it, and left his weapons of war at 
home. 


NATURAL PROVISIONS FOR PEACE. 

From the rain-drop world of the viewless animalcule, to 
the outermost circumference of our solar system, reaching 
across the whole amplitude of mind, and breathing and 
breathless matter, not even the arch-enemy of man himself 
could find a single natural provision for war : nor could an 
angel of light, following in his track, detect a single 
hieroglyphic that could show, that the Providence of God 
ever anticipated any other condition than perpetual peace 
among men. Every relation of time, distance, and dimen¬ 
sions, which our earth sustains in the solar system, has a 
specific relation to this condition. The shape of its orbit, 
and the inclination of its axis, have not varied a hair since 
the morning stars sang together ; and in that birth-day of 



NATURAL PROVISIONS FOR PEACE. 


123 


time, they were fixed in that Eternal Purpose to produce 
that endless variety of soil and climate, and that infinite 
chain of reciprocal necessities, which should put the human 
race under everlasting bonds to keep the peace. And if 
this night the slightest change should be introduced in 
those great physical relations ; should the inclination of the 
earth’s axis be increased or diminished by a few degrees ; 
we should find all our commercial relations changed on the 
morrow; and next year we might be raising cotton for 
southern manufacturers, and England importing her tropical 
fruits to Brazil.* They are the huge hawsers that moor 
countries together, and which never can be severed bv 
human legislation, let the heathen rage, and Christians 
dream as much as they will about physical, moral, and 
social independence, and isolation. 

This kind of independence cannot be tolerated by any 
provisions of nature, and any attempt to enforce it as an 
insurrection against even the physical laws of the universe. 
There is a wonderful exposition of this truth in the very 
anatomy of the globe, which should strike us with peculiar 
force. The anatomist can never cease to admire the perfect 
symmetry of the human body, and that correspondence of 
its parts which makes one division of the system an almost 
exact duplicate of the other. Why, then, he might ask, 
is not the western hemisphere an exact duplicate of the 
eastern ? Why are the two halves of the globe put to¬ 
gether with such deforming incongruity,—a foot against a 
hand, a neck against a shoulder, an ear against a mouth ? 
What dreadful convulsions of nature have produced this un¬ 
seemly distortion ? Why is there not a precise corres¬ 
pondence of climate and soil within the same degrees of 

* There is no ambiguity in the design of Divine Providence in 
this great system of physical relations. 

G 2 


124 


NATURAL PROVISIONS FOR .PEACE. 


latitude clear round the globe ? Why are not Japan, Persia, 
Barbary, and the United States all of the same temperature, 
and susceptible of the same productions ? Why is not Italy 
just like Nova Scotia, and England like Labrador or New¬ 
foundland, when the sun shines as vertically upon one 
country as the other, and all are equally contiguous to the 
same Atlantic waters ? 

Superficial observer! Let me tell that anatomist to look 
asrain, and see what St. Paul saw ; let him trace the effect 
of this apparent anomaly but a little way, and he will arrive 
at a glorious cause of causes,—the very innermost divinity 
of the arrangement, which is nothing less than a physical 
provision to carry out the eternal truth,—that “ God hath 
made of one blood all nations of men and meant that 
they should feel, and read it too, in the unwritten statutes 
of nature. That every lack of physical correspondence 
between the two hemispheres, multiplies and subdivides 
international relations. It creates and supplies reciprocal 
necessities not only between different zones, but also 
within the same parallels of latitude all round the globe. 
It is the great sub-marine chain that connects China 
and Greenland, Siberia and Brazil; that chain whose 
links grow larger and larger as they approach the earth’s 
extremes and grapple together mutual antipodes with hooks 
of steel. The Greenland hunter, when he returns from the 
chase, wants every thing that the Chinese peasent can 
produce, and the New Englander wants half of the same 
productions; and that peasant wants every thing that the 
arctic hunter can reach with his bow and harpoon, and 
half of what the New Englander can produce from his skill. 

So that the physical relations between different countries 
increase in strength with their intervening distance. This 
arrangement, to make one nation dependent on another, is 
the primitive basis of international commerce and comety. 


NATURAL PROVISIONS FOR PEACE. 


125 


True, it is the coarsest bond of connection ; and it would 
exist with all its iron strength, if there was no human 
nature in man ; if he had no social nor moral relations to 
his neighbour, nor any of the divine affinities of the human 
soul. A coarse bond it is, indeed, but it is a chain of 
adamant which all the navies of the world cannot break, 
and all the swords that war ever sharpened to butcher men 
cannot sever. 

All other ligaments of human nature and society,—all the 
ties of religion and love and consanguinity, have yielded, 
like singed strings of tow, to the breath of that fiendish 
spirit which broke peace in heaven as well as earth. But 
never has that great physical bond relaxed its hold: no, it 
has contracted under every drop of blood, and drawn belli¬ 
gerent countries more closely together. There never was a 
war of one year’s duration, but that all those who could not 
fight on either side, hankered and pined, and even starved, 
for what grew almost spontaneous on their enemy’s soil. 

Aye ! decrepid age stretched out its palsied hand, and 
the infant in the cradle felt for something which nature had 
given the enemy, and the enemy could alone give or sell to 
them. 

Go out among our New England hills and ask the surviving 
mothers of the revolution, and they will rehearse the ex¬ 
perience of mothers of every war, and tell you how they 
went out into the woods sick and sad, and peeled the trees, 
and dug up roots from the frosty earth with their bare 
fingers, and seethed the bitterest herbs for a substitute for 
some production of an interdicted soil. Until the puny arm of 
man may reach up, and shift the tendency of gravitation, or 
jostle the earth into another centre, this great physical 
bond of peace will never relax its strength. The revelations 
of reason, experience, and the gospel, and the irresistible 
tendencies of the age, are developing some new and start- 


126 


NATURAL PROVISIONS FOR PEACE. 


ling principle in physiology — not the physiology of the 
human body, but of the great body of humanity, the 
anatomy of mankind. Our statesmen, philanthropists, 
and Christians are yet mere children in this new science. 
Let them take a few lessons in this comparative anatomy, 
and they will find that the solid globe,—with its fathomless 
strata of granite muscles, with the radical heat of its 
internal fires, with the vital fluid of its oceans and rivers, 
and the adamantine osteology of its mountains,—is nothing 
more or less than the great body of corporate humanity, 
humanity the body of the soul, and the soul the body of 
divinity, and divinity the essence and inspiration of God. 
Viewed in this light, every acre of dry land becomes so 
much flesh of this great corporeity, every river a vein 
throbbing with the vital fluid, every sea an artery, and the 
oceans only three lobes or divisions of one great heart. 

The devout anatomist, then, will see that every act of 
narrow-minded legislation is a ligature around some minor 
vein, to stop the circulation of blood through this 
giant system. Every war is just such a conspiracy in the 
human family as that in the fable, where the members of 
the human family conspired against the stomach, and 
refused to supply that suspected organ with food, until 
they became the very first victims of their niggardly 
malice and suspicion. We are apt to tell a poor emaciated 
person, who has saturated his system with the medicines of 
every travelling quack, that if he will leave nature alone, 
she will work out her owm cure. How much more justly, 
then, may we apply this principle to the great mankind 
system, which, in every age, has an inveterate Sangrado 
digging away at every pore ! Let the standing armies of the 
world throw away their murderous lancets; let the braying 
cannon cease to cut and cauterise upon the great body of 
corporate humanity ; give every soldier a hoe or a Jew’s- 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 


127 


harp, and every marine a harpoon, and this universal 
nature would soon work its own cure. It would resume its 
own functions, and their first uninterrupted operation would 
bring^baek “peace on earth and good will to men.” 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 

The fruit that tempted Eve was fair to look upon long 
before she inhaled its delicious ordour : it held out its rosv 

J 

fascinations to the lust of the eye before she touched its 
yielding stem ; its wooing, luscious tints held a mellifluent 
dalliance with the sight before she put it to her lips or 
assayed the fatal taste. If then our first mother, in all the 
unsullied purity of her primeval innocence, fell before a 
temptation which was presented to a single sense, how shall 
the reformed inebriate stand before one which, for years, 
has led all his senses captive? Had the fruit which 
seduced Eve grown anywhere else than in Eden, she would 
not have touched it. Had it hung among thorns and 
thistles, or in the wild-wood shade ; had it met her eye in 
the deep dingy fen, where poisonous plants took root; had 
no sweet breathing foliage nor flowers dripping with 
honeyed dew helped on the deadly delusion, she would 
have turned from it with disgust. So it is with the 
reformed inebriate: he may pass by one of those subter¬ 
ranean shambles where he was once made a brute, and 
resist the temptation to enter there. The sight of the bloated 
drunkard swallowing his fiery draught of cheap made 
poison, may not cause him to falter or fall: the hoarse 
songs of the midnight revel may not allure him from the 
music of lips and hearts which have begun again to make 



128 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 


sweet melody around liis own fireside. He may even 
breathe the atmosphere of the grog shop and escape its 
contagion : he may walk upon the burning coals of alcohol, 
and come olf without even the smell of fire in his garments. 
He may do all this ; but there is another ordeal through 
which he may not pass unless some special angel of mercy 
keeps his feet from falling. Having escaped the quag¬ 
mires, the pit-falls, and fiery serpents of the wilderness of 
sin, he may fail into the silken snares which are set for his 
soul among the flowers of Eden. 

Let us contemplate for a moment the scene of this 
searching ordeal through wdiich the reformed inebriate 
must pass before he gets out of the arrow-shot of the 
enemy. These places of enchantment are not castles in 
the air; would to heaven they were ! Like the mansion 
doors of the Egyptians, they bear not upon their lintels the 
saving mark of total abstinance; and he who enters there, 
may find the destroyer’s sword as sharp as when the first¬ 
born of Egypt fell by its unsparing edge. We must w^arn 
the unwary against these high places of temptation, or be 
responsible for the perdition which may follow our remiss¬ 
ness of duty. We need only describe such a place to dis¬ 
charge this duty. Let me attempt this task. Did you 
not notice this day that marble-fronted edifice which arose 
in towering majesty among the elegant mansions which 
line yonder street ? That is the abode of all that earth can 
give. The lord of that mansion has a heart as ample as 
his house, and generous impulses of his kindly nature glow 
as brightly as the fires upon his friendly hearth stone. 
Every elegance which a cultivated taste can conceive or 
suggest, is there rendered elegant by that spirit of harmony 
and beauty which breathes in every object and pervades 
every influence. That father and husband adorns every 
relation of private, social, and public life with that liarmo- 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 


129 


nising consistency of character which he carries from the 
bosom of his family. His words are words of wisdom, and 
they are heard in the councils ofliis country. Hundreds 
of the irresolute and vascillating cling to the beautiful 
symmetry of his character, and bow in veneration to his 
opinion. He is a munificent benefactor: no periodical 
impulses make him a periodical philanthropist. His heart 
is always open to the objects of benevolence, and no misery 
falls without the pale of his charity. The guests that daily 
assemble around his ample board bear testimony to his 
munificent hospitality. The wife that presides at that table 
is one of the constituent elements of his being, his charac¬ 
ter, his happiness, and his destiny. His children make up 
the symmetry of the whole ; and when he is found in their 
midst, he is found at home, on his throne, with all his stars 
glittering in his crown. There you may find him when he 
retires from the world, listening to the melody of lips 
which cannot be silent there. Eyes that vie with the 
diamond’s light, grow brighter in the light of his counte¬ 
nance. Jewelled hands make melody on the harp for him: 
fingers that divide the music with the strings they touch, 
make the piano breathe its choicest tones upon his ear. 
The voice of prayer arises morning and evening from the 
altar whose fires are never extinguished in his heart or in 
the bosom of his family. The songs of praise and thanks¬ 
giving bear heavenward the incense of every lip and heart; 
and while it ascends to its great Author and Object, it 
sheds back an odour and an ether of kindness and love upon 
all that surround that happy household. Might not such 
a house be called the house of Obed-Edom, where the ark 
of God, the ark of the covenant and the promise, reposed ! 
Why might we not call such a mansion a kind of Eden, a 
Paradise regained ? What lacks it yet ? Nothing ! It is 
an Eden ; it is an Eden with the fatal apple peering from 


130 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 


among its choicest flowers in all its resistless fascination. 
It is an Eden filled with all a thousand tempting syrens, 
commending that deadly fruit w'hose mortal taste has 
brought sin and death into our world, and woes enough to 
make the angels weep—that fruit that has turned the 
ambling fountains of the human heart into black, bitter, 
and burning pitch, and, like a viper stung the soul with the 
throes of immortal death. Moderate, fashionable wine- 
drinker, do you ask wherein the mansion I have sketched 
is involved in this deadly character ? and what temptation 
it thus conceals ? Open that locker and you will see. 
That dark-looking bottle with the silver top is full of 
the juice of that apple of sin which Eve tasted to her 
cost and ours. Follow that bottle to yonder table ; see 
it unvialled there; see whom the hissing serpent stings; 
it passes around ; the generous host sips but lightly of 
the pleasing beverage ; it but moistens the lips of his 
accomplished wife; it hardly stains those of his daughters 
with a deeper blush ; his son almost forgets that his glass 
is full and untasted; at that table it is only a thing of 
custom, and not of appetite ; and when that family retires 
from that board, no influence of the sparkling wine will 
revive its memory. But who is that newly invited guest 
who is sitting at that board for the first time for years ? 
He looks like one just returned from a long voyage 
upon the seas. He is a nephew of our host, the son 
of a widowed sister, who was once a clerk in his store. 
And he has been out upon the seas, and suffered ship¬ 
wreck, without lightning or tempest. Ten years ago, 
a taste from the wine cup which stood upon that very 
table, decoyed him out among the quicksands of tempta¬ 
tion, and for years he was dashed against the rocks and 
lee-shores of ruin. 

The temperance w r reckers found him bruised and 


lead us not into temptation. 


131 


bleeding on the beach, and like good Samaritans, they 
poured the healing anodynes of human kindness and 
love into his broken and hopeless heart. They bore 
him back in their arms to the home of his youth, and 
gave him to his mother; for like her of Nain, she was 
a widow, and he her only son. Among those who rejoiced 
with her at the restoration of one so dead and lost, none 
had a gladlier throbbing heart than our generous host. 
He welcomed the young man again to the bosom of his 
family, and placed him by his side at the table. Every 
inmate of that mansion received the returning prodigal 
with emotions of joy, and all the insanity of his former 
dissipation and disgrace was forgotten. Eyes that once 
grew dim at the sight of his ruin, now r glistened with 
exultation at his rescue and return. Hearts that grew 
heavy with sorrow as he sank in disgrace, now palpitated 
with gladness at the recovery of his reason and character. 
In that happy family he is again a son and a brother. 
Ever since his restoration he has withstood every tempta¬ 
tion of the charmer ; but see! while she has lulled his 
suspicions in the bowers of this Eden, she is fettering 
her victim at that very table, in the midst of that happy 
group, under the very eye of that generous uncle, who 
has just thanked God that the boy has escaped the snare 
of the fowler. He sees each member of that family 
dallying with the tempter, and he himself begins to be 
less apprehensive of its insidious advances. The youngest 
of his bright-eyed cousins at his side greets the sparkling 
champagne with her lips, and commends it to his with 
a smile which he cannot resist. It is an innocent beverage, 
he is told ; the glass by his plate is small, very small; he 
looks around him for something to divert the suggestion 
from his mind ; his uncle is a Christian, and he looks with 
confidence to his example. Fatal moment! that uncle is 


132 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 


just raising his glass to his lips ; he is taking the most 
moderate, temperate draught, and he never drinks but 
once at his dinner-table. Look at that young man ! he 
is lost! he is hit to the heart! the snare is sprung! 
he risks one deceitful, fatal sip! Up, and after him: 
he is making his way to the shambles: his feet are on 
the threshold of the chamber of death. Follow him 
closely up, brethren ! bring him forth, poor man ! cut 
away the pestiferous folds of the monster, and see if he 
may stand upon his feet again. Watch him closely, 
brethren, and if you resuscitate a breath of life within 
him, let him not breathe a second time in gunshot of a 
moderate drinker. 

While recovering from his deadly swoon, show him as 
many drunkards as you can ; let him occasionally catch 
the loathsome effluvia of the dark subterranean rum hole; 
give him now and then a sudden glimpse of that beastly 
degradation which he himself has fathomed; but place a 
sentinel before the door of that kind, warm-hearted, wine¬ 
drinking uncle ; let him not enter there, for he had better 
enter his grave. There is no place on earth so fatal to him 
as a seat at that friendly board. There every thing must 
conspire to his ruin. Every social, moral, and intellectual 
influence which he meets under that roof, enhances the 
certainty of his prediction ; even the services of religion 
and the evidences of Christianity, will there join the con¬ 
spiracy against him, and furnish the tempter with a new 
language to entrap his soul. Have we done any injustice 
to the moderate, the fashionable wine-drinker ? Did we 
attribute any premeditated malice to his intentions, or any 
covert design to injure his ward? No! more than man 
can merit, was awarded to him ; nor was it intimated that 
he was morally responsible for the inadvertent ruin which 
resulted from his conformity to a custom, which, if we may 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 


133 


so say, has become accidentally fatal to the community. 
\Ye did not insinuate a charge against the civil, social, and 
Christian character of that worthy citizen. We employed 
the most expressive language at our command, to present 
these aspects and lineaments of character in the most pre¬ 
possessing light. Call the destruction of that young man 
an accident, if you will, for which that generous host was 
not accountable; but this consideration will not mitigate 
the bitterness of the disaster. That youth will sink as 
deep in the bottomless slough of human degradation, as if 
that uncle and guardian had spent twenty years in malicious 
machinations to effect his ruin. The plea of inadvertency 
and irresponsibility seems to aggravate the case. Had that 
guardian made his unsuspecting ward a victim of his pre¬ 
meditated malevolence, it would have satisfied a better 
principle than revenge, to have known that he would have 
been amenable at least to Divine justice. Had he laid 
snares, and dug pit-falls for the feet of that youth ; had he 
employed spies and adroit emissaries to decoy him into the 
chamber of death ; the young man would not have fallen. 
His eye was trained by bitter experience to be on the alert 
for every species of these gins and traps. He had already 
escaped hundreds as dangerous as human ingenuity could 
spread in his path. He had graduated in this indispen¬ 
sable science, and schooled his eye to an exquisite perception 
of the wiles of malicious hypocracy. His guardian did by 
accident what he could not do by design. He perpetuated 
an act with moral impunity, which he could not have done 
with guilt enough to sink an angel. 1 he very fact and 
evidence of his good-will and generous designs, ruined his 
ward ; who would not have touched a drop of the perilous 
stuff, had he seen all the rest of the world quaffing it with 
delight. What atonement, then, can such a citizen offer 
the communit} r in the plea of inadvertency ? What repara- 


134 


LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 


tion or excuse can he make to humanity by maintaining 
that there is “ no method in his madness,” nor design in 
his mischief. Was the fall of that young man the result 
of accident ? Grant it; but how comes it that it was an 
accident, which could only occur under the roof and influ¬ 
ence of that moderate, wine-drinking uncle? Is it an 
accident; is it a fortuitous necessity that fills the dwelling 
of such a citizen with the deadliest pit-falls for those who 
have just been plucked from the abyss ? Is it a harmless 
inadvertency, that his drawing room and dining room are 
set off “ with lime twigs,” to catch the newly redeemed 
soul ? Suppose you should escape the curse uttered against 
him “ who puts his bottle to his neighbour’s lips,” and 
still work all the ruin of such an action, would it serve as 
an opiate to your conscience, and sweeten the hemlock of 
human misery, to say that it was an accident ? 




CONTENTS 


Pag<*_ 

The Spirit and Example of Christ ... 1 

/The Warrior and the Christian . . . .5 

^Christianity Outlawed by War . . . 7 

'War and the Spirit and Mission'of Christianity . 9 

The Law of Love ...... 11 

The Two Swords . . . . . .13 

/ 

Will it be Safe? . . . . . .17 

Fixed Principles . . . . . .21 

Individual Responsibility . . . .25 

God’s Power with Men . . . . .29 

The Last Warrior . . . . . .33 

The Fingers of Christianity . . . .37 

The Power of the Christian Church as an Organisation 42 
The First Law of Nature . . . . .45 

% 

Inhumanity of War . . . . . 49 

/The Courage and Conquests of Peace . . .53 

'.The Pioneers of Peace . . . . .57 

The Time and Temple of Peace . . . .61 

/The Advent and Era of Peace .... 66 

Brotherhood . . . . . . .69 

.^The Power of Passive Resistance . . . 73 

Jhe Dignity of Passive Resistance .. . . .77 



IV 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

The Patriotism of Passive Resistance . . . 81 

The Economy of Passive Resistance . . .85 

An “Extreme Case” ..... 89 

The Policeman and the Soldier . . .93 

Reciprocal Faith . . . . . .97 

The Danger of Foreign Invasion . . . .101 

*' The Brotherhood of Nations . . . .105 

Now ........ 109 

^The Power of Peace . . . . .115 

Armed Negotiation . . . . . .117 

The Grand Congress of Nations . . . 121 

Fundamental Principles . . . . .129 

Wardrobe-Webs and Table-Ties of Brotherhood . 133 

The League of Universal Brotherhood . . .141 


PEACE PAPERS FOR THE PEOPLE. 

BY ELIHU BURRITT. 


THE SPIRIT AND EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 

“ I am the vine, ye are the branches; he that abideth in me, and 
I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye can 
do nothing. If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, 
and is withered.” 

Here the nature of the Christian’s unity with Christ is eluci¬ 
dated by the clearest and simplest demonstration. The heart 
of the true, living, fruit-bearing Christian is grafted into the 
heart of Christ. And there it must abide, filling its system of 
veins and arteries with the vital fluid, the spirit that is in 
Christ. Christianity is not the production of the wild olive- 
branch of human nature. Christian acts are not the fruit of 
the spirit of the old man, but of the new man, which is in 
Christ Jesus. Xo one, in any condition of life, can be a fruit¬ 
bearing Christian any longer than he abides in the vine. And 
■while he thus abides in it, the actions of his life, in all their 
variety and different degrees of development, will be transfused 
with its spirit. If I may say so, every grape, however green 
or ripe, will savour of the spirit of the vine. Every action in 
its inception and issue; every duty, social, public, or private ; 
every emotion, weak or strong, will bear witness to the spirit 
that w^as in Christ. In estimating the value of a diamond, we 
say, it is of such and such a water. In analysing the purity of 
a Christian action, we may say, that it is of such and such a 



2 


THE SPIRIT AND EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 


spirit —that, in the ore of grosser motives, are contained, as it 
were, so many grains of the spirit of Christ. 

Now, we ask, “whence come wars and fightings?” "Whence 
come the emotions that fill the heart in the act of inflicting 
upon a fellow-being atrocities which no brute inflicts upon its 
fellow-brute ? in the act of thrusting his maddened soul into 
the presence of its God on the point of the bayonet ? of maim¬ 
ing and mutilating his body, and stamping it, in the mire of 
its blood, into the earth ? Is any of the spirit of Christ in 
emotions and actions like these ? Follow him, from the man¬ 
ger to the cross, through every trial he was called to endure; 
through all the bitter obloquy and persecution that were 
heaped upon him; through all the indignities, the violation of 
his rights as a citizen, which he daily suffered. Stand by him 

at that crowning scene of ignominy and malice, when, at 

* 

Pilate’s bar, he was spit upon and buffeted by the malignant 
mob. Watch the expression of his countenance when the 
crown of thorns was plaited around his temples; whilst he was 
staggering up the hill of blood under the weight of his cross; 
when the nails w r ere driven; when he breathed forth the last 
impulse of his spirit upon his red-handed murderers, and cried, 
Father, forgive them ! Father, forgive them !! Yes, 
steal in upon him at any point of these fierce temptations; at 
any lone moment of his agony; at his night-wrestlings in the 
garden, when he sweat, as it were, great drops of blood, in 
view of the last scene of his suffering. See what were the 
fruits of his spirit in these “ extreme cases.” When there was 
none to see and hear but God, did a thought of ill-will to a 
human being steal into his heart, as the long catalogue of 
injuries he had received from his countrymen pressed upon his 
memory ? Did a shade of anger cross that grief-marred coun¬ 
tenance under cover of the night ? Did a tone of unkindness 
strengthen the emphasis of his midnight prayer ? 

Is, then, the disciple greater than his Master ? Are liis 
temptations greater than were his Master’s ? Are the “ ex¬ 
treme cases ” to which he is exposed more extreme than were 


THE SPIRIT AND EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 3 

those of his Master ? If the Christian is a branch of such a 
vine ; if he abides in such a vine; if his heart is grafted into 
the heart of Christ, and thence receives the vital fluid of its 
spiritual existence ;—in short, if he have the same spirit that was 
in Christ, breathing and begetting life in his soul, then in the 
extremest cases of sudden and fearful trial into which a human 
being may be thrown, he will act, speak, and pray like his 
Master—like the Captain of his salvation, who was made 
perfect through suffering. The Godless governments of this 
world may rule and rage as they may, but “ neither principa¬ 
lities, nor powers, nor things present or to come,” can separate 
the true, living Christian from the love of God, which is in 
Christ. They cannot dislocate his heart from the heart of 
Christ. And while that vital connection exists, he cannot 
fight, unless a malignant element be first infused into the 
fountain from which he draws his life-spirit. I say it with 
reverence, until the powers and principalities of this world 
shall change the attributes of the Son of God, the Christian 
cannot fight, nor hate, nor curse, nor injure, nor scorn his 
brother man. His moral inability to indulge these passions, 
and to perpetrate these deeds, is fixed upon him by a law as 
irrepealable, as unchangeable, as the elements of God’s being. 
So a Christian, in the fulness of this divine communication, is 
disqualified for a soldier by every attribute of the spirit with 
which it transfuses his soul. We have tested him before a 
court martial, and found that he would be hung upon the first 
tree as a traitor, if he should obey the commands, evince the 
spirit, and imitate the example of Christ towards his enemies 
on the eve of a battle. The recruiting sergeant has sent him 
home, as unfit for service. Shall the Christian chinch, the 
court of Christ on earth, reverse the decision of the court martial, 
and send the soldier of the cross back to the recruiting ser¬ 
geant, with the admonition to that officer of the carnal weapon 
order, that he had mistaken his man ; that the robe of Christ’s 
righteousness, pure and white as it might seem, might be dyed 
to the reddest crimson in the hot rivulets of human blood on the 

B 2 


4 


THE SPIRIT AND EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 


battle-field, and yet be in uniform with the robes of the blest 
in Heaven ? Shall a bench of Bishops, a council of Gospel 
Ministers, or the Church itself, undertake to impeach the 
authority of the greatest generals of the world, who have 
testified to the inconsistency of all war with Christianity ? 
Who, on the Continent of Europe, ever tried the metal of more 
soldiers than Buonaparte, or better knew the qualities most 
requisite in a warrior, than he, when he summed up his 
experience in the declaration, “ the worse the man the better the 
soldier ? ” Who, of all the English list of military heroes, is 
better authority than he whose monument towers highest 
among its fellows in the metropolis of the world P And the 
Duke of Wellington has said, “ No person with nice scruples 
about religion has any business in the army .” Another hero, 
with his laurels blushing on his brow with the fresh crimson 
of the battle-field, has declared, at the festal board, and to 
fellow officers, that “ the soldier’s trade was a damnable pro¬ 
fession.” Shall Christians endeavour to raise such a profession 
to the reputation of a Christian occupation ? There is no room 
in any army upon earth for a man who can love his enemies, 
and bless and pray for them who despitefully use him. There 
is no army upon earth before which he would not be hung as a 
traitor, if he exercised the highest prerogatives, and obeyed 
the sublimest precepts of Christianity, and forgave and blessed, 
and fed the very persons whom his Divine Master commanded 
him to forgive, bless, and feed. 


“ The Powers that be.”— The government of God is one of 
“ the powers that be ; ” and to it every knee shall bow, and 
every tongue confess, both in heaven and on earth. The 
Governor of the Universe has ordained no power to be, whose 
existence requires the abrogation or suspension of one iota of 
of his royal law. 



THE WARRIOR AND THE CHRISTIAN. 


We are taught, by Divine precept and example, that the 
fruits of the spirit of Christ are “ love, joy, peace, long-suffering, 
gentleness, faith, meekness, temperanceSfc. Now then, can 
there be any duty owed by man to his fellow-men which these 
qualities do not pre-eminently fit him to perform ? Is there 
anything' right in itself, which is not pre-eminently right in 
the Christian ? May he not have in him the spirit that was 
in Christ, in the liveliest exercise, whilst discharging all his 
civil and social duties ? Will not that spirit enable him better to 
fill every honest situation in life, though called to wield the 
brush of the chimney-sweep or the sceptre of the monarch? 
Then if taking the lives of our fellow beings on the field of 
battle is right, in any possible case, why should not the spirit 
of Christ best quality men for the human butchery ? ’Why 
should not the most valuable qualities of the warrior’s nature 
be u love, joy, PEACE, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, meek¬ 
ness, fyc. ? ” If the field of battle be a field of Christian duty, 
why should it not lie closest to the banks of the river of God, 
and its red dews of human blood be perfused and perfumed by 
the dews of Divine mercy and love ? If to cut, mangle, and 
trample in the dust the children of our common Father, for 
whom Christ died, be a duty devolving on men, then it is a 
duty devolving on Christian men, and the most solemn duty 
they can be summoned to discharge this side of eternity. If 
it can be morally right for men, whose breath is in their 



6 


THE WARRIOR AND THE CHRISTIAN. 


nostrils, to arrogate to themselves half the prerogative of the 
Almighty, who can not only kill but make alive, then those 
who are nearest^ like him in spirit should be the only ones 
qualified and selected to discharge this awful duty. Those set 
apart to kill and be killed should be pervaded with a spirit 
which could fellowship with the spirit of heaven, and fit them 
for its society, whilst in the act of stabbing at each others’ 
hearts, or weltering in their gore. If men are to be sent by 
regiments to the bar of God, they should be chosen from those 
who, whilst transfixed by the bayonet, could breathe out their 
life in the prayer—“ Father, forgive them! Father, forgive 
them! ” They should be those who could kill and be killed in 
the full exercise of that spirit whose fruits are “ LOVE, joy, 
peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, meeknessfrc. 

God is where duty is; and if it be on the crimsoned plains 
of War, then is the camp a meet temple for his worship and 
communion; then is the trench,—girdling beleaguered cities, 
and filled with armed men,—a fit place for the prayer-meeting; 
then is the breach, and the bridge of quivering, blackened 
bodies—choice places for men, with hands chapping with their 
brothers’ blood, to handle the elements of the broken body and 
shed blood of the Saviour of mankind. Then the singing of 
psalms and spiritual songs might ascend sweetest on the morn¬ 
ing and evening incense of gun-powder, and the sacrifice of a 
contrite spirit be a windrow of bayoneted men, bleeding their 
lives out in the smoking sand. What true disciple of Christ 
could contemplate, without an instinctive shudder, these affect¬ 
ing exercises of the Christian faith and fellowship associated 
with the scenes and emotions of the battlefield! If he could suc¬ 
ceed in satisfying his reason that a war might possibly be con¬ 
sistent with the precepts and spirit of Christianity, how could 
his heart, if it breathed that spirit, endure the association to 
which we have referred. 


CHRISTIANITY OUTLAWED BY WAR. 


If any war can be consistent with, then it may be consistent of 
Christianity. Then Christianity may be auxiliary to such a 
war, rendering it more effective in the destruction of human 
life. Then the more of the spirit of Christ that can be infused 
into the heart of the warrior, the better will he be fitted to do 
his work on the field of battle. Then the most forgiving child 
of God should be the most sought for by the recruiting sergeant. 
He who can love his own enemies, and pray for them who de- 
spitefully use him, might be put first on the list of those set 
apart to slay the enemies of his country. But how would these 
qualities of Christian character, in their “ rank and file,” be 
regarded by the military leaders of any country ? In the most 
righteous war that could be waged upon earth, would they 
admit into their ranks, as warriors, men who breathed, with 
no intermittent pulse, the spirit of Christ, and acted it out in 
every situation of life in which they could be placed ? Suppose, 
hard upon the midnight watch, a few hours before a general 
battle, the patrolling officers, whilst on their rounds, should 
overhear in one corner of the camp the united voices of a regi¬ 
ment of Christians invoking the blessing of God upon their 
enemies, praying for them as Christ prayed for his enemies on 
the cross. Would not those heart tones of earnest prayer fall 
upon the ears of the epauletted listeners like the serpent whis¬ 
pers of treason ? What would Buonaparte, Wellington, or Wash¬ 
ington say of soldiers thus “ shod with the preparation of the 
Gospel of peace ? ”—thus clad in the full uniform of the Captain 
of their salvation ? thus encased in the full armour of God 



8 


CHRISTIANITY OUTLAWED BY WAR. 


specified by the apostle? Would either of those generals have 
led such a band of men into the breach ? Would such be the 
soldiers they would select for the storming of fortifications and 
the sacking of cities ? Surely not! for though they would be 
brave enough to die, they would not dare to kill, for they 
would strike at the bosom of their Saviour at every blow they 
dealt at those for whom he died. Then, can any war be con¬ 
sistent with Christianity whilst it makes high treason of the 
holiest attributes of Christianity, and hangs the Christian as a 
traitor for exercising the highest prerogative of his divine 
adoption—the prerogative of dwelling in love; of loving his 
enemies; of praying for them; of feeding them; of overcoming 
the enmity of their hearts with good ? Can that occupation or 
obligation be consistent with Christianity, which makes it a 
capital crime in the Christian to practise the capital virtue of 
his religion toward his fellow beings ? which makes it a dis¬ 
graceful felony in him to obey the commands, evince the 
spirit, and imitate the example of Christ in his conduct toward 
his enemies ? 


A WHISPER FROM THE PIANO. 

The piercing shrieks of the dying, and groans, modulated to 
every cadence of despair and agony, make up the music of the 
battle-field ; and there would be less of it heard in the world, 
if there were less military music heard in the parlour. Young 
lady, the strings you touch, in the “ Battle of Prague,” are 
the strings of broken hearts. Play not that tune, nor any 
other that breathes of war ; lest your own riven heart become 
an instrument whose thousand strings shall, in the midnight 
time of future years, give out untouched notes, and trilling 
quavers of agony which you cannot teach the piano now. 



WAR AND THE SPIRIT AND MISSION OF 

CHRISTIANITY. 


Let us look at war in the light of Christianity for one 
moment. Great and good men, of almost every age, have 
testified to its complete, inevitable, unchanging, and everlasting 
antagonism to the whole spirit and teachings of the religion of 
the gospel. Some celebrated divine has said that war was the 
inversion of the whole moral code; a violation of every com¬ 
mand of the divine decalogue; a condition in which crime 
becomes virtue, and virtue crime. “ To return evil for good,” 
says one, “ is demonlike; to return evil for evil is beastlike ; 
to return good for good is manlike; but to return good for evil 
is Godlike.” Christianity was designed to make man Godlike; 
hence its highest precept and prerogative is to oppose good to 
evil; to love, and to pray for our enemies; to warm, feed, and 
clothe them. This is the highest attribute of Christianity in 
its relations to human conduct. It is not only a precept of the 
Christian religion, but a quality, a spirit, a life in the heart of 
the true Christian. Now war makes this great and vital attri¬ 
bute high treason in the Christian, and hangs him as a traitor 
for exercising the highest prerogative of his Divine adoption— 
for feeding, clothing, warming, and comforting such persons as 
are declared to be his enemies, and the enemies of his country. 
Thus war makes the sublimest virtue of Christianity the black¬ 
est crime in the Christian, and hangs him for it, whilst it 

B 3 




10 WAR AND THE SPIRIT AND MISSION OF CHRISTIANITY. 

makes the murderer a hero. War seeks to turn the most 
sacred affinities and relations that can exist in hmnan society 
into implacable antagonisms. It seeks to pit Christian 
against Christian in deadly struggle, even across the sacramen¬ 
tal table ; to turn all the holy harmonies of the Christian faith 
and communion into discords, raging and relentless. Let us 
contemplate one of the great incongruities involved in its 
bloody code of crime. 

Let us suppose that war has been declared between England 
and the United States for a territory, which each would feel 
too poor to buy, if to take a single infant from its mother’s 
breast and hang it on the gibbet, were the purchase price. 
There are two proud ships, freighted with armed men, bearing 
up to some small seaport on the coast of India. Each has on 
board half a score of missionaries, sent out by their respective 
societies, under the protection of a government ship, to preach 
the Gospel of peace to the benighted pagans. There, a little 
way from the shore is the humble missionary house, and the 
old missionary stands with tears of joy in the door, waiting to 
greet the new band of labourers to the mission-field. The 
native children of his school press around him, and share his 
joy, whilst their fathers, and all the rude heathen of the hills, 
run down to the beach to see the approaching ships. Slowly 
they converge toward the land, one bearing the stars and 
stripes at its mast-head, the other the British lion. On their 
decks stand men in black and men in red, but all speaking the 
same language, professing to be children of the same heavenly 
Father. A sign of mutual recognition passes between the two 
ships, and an hundred doors instantly open in their sides, 
disclosing rows of large-mouthed cannon. Every man on board 
brandishes a long silver-handed butcher-knife, or a loaded 
musket; except the missionary, who carries a Bible at his side 
instead of the cartridge-box. A moment of silence ensues 
whilst one of the missionaries of the Gospel of peace, on each 
ship, prays to the God of battles to fight for both the eagle and 
the lion. Then, like floating volcanoes, the two vessels belch 


WAR AND THE SPIRIT AND MISSION OF CHRISTIANITY. 11 

forth at each other fire and smoke, and torrents of red lava 
from their iron craters. Rocking and reeling in the reddened 
sea, the tall-masted ships approach either amid the horrid 
combustion. The tempest of fire and smoke grows more and 
more terrific. The quick explosion and crash of the iron 
thunderbolts; the falling of masts; the cry of fighting and 
dying men; the groaning of the broken-ribbed ships; the 
plunge of mutilated bodies beneath the crimsoned waves; the 
hoarse braying of the battle trumpet; the oaths and fierce 
imprecations of maddened human beings, all mingling their 
horrid echoes in the fiery chaos, are, to the unconverted pagans 
on the shore, the sound of the feet which profess to “ bring 
good tidings of great joy to all people.” To their unenligh¬ 
tened minds, this ministration of fire and blood, this scene of 
mutual butchery, is associated with the ministrations of the 
Gospel of Jesus Christ. Follow these missionaries to the shore 
from the slippery decks of the two dismantled ships: release 
them from the godless command that made them enemies, and 
let them stand up before the unconverted natives, and, with 
their shoes full of Christian blood, tell them the story of the 
cross, of the peace-breathing doctrines of Jesus; of the spirit 
of his life and precepts; of his great law of love, which com¬ 
mands his followers to love their enemies; to resist not evil, 
but to overcome evil with good. How would such precepts, 
from such lips, fall upon pagan ears! After such a baptism of 
fire and blood, and burning hate, what attribute of Christianity 
could commend it to the worshippers of Juggernaut ? 


THE LAW OF LOVE. 

“ I am a Christian, and cannot fight.” 

As there is no square inch in space to which the law of 
gravity is not as necessary as to any other square inch, so 
there is no one portion of the moral universe to which the 
royal law of love is not as necessary as to any other portion 



12 


THE LAW OF LOVE. 


of it. That law is no more binding or necessary in heaven 
than on earth; no more obligatory on Gabriel than on the 
most depraved mortal to whom it has been given :—unless, 
indeed, the repeated violations of a law may exhaust its 
obligations. God, therefore, consistently with his attributes 
and laws, can no more sanction war on earth than in heaven. 
And if he cannot change his attributes, then he cannot change 
his laws; and if he cannot change his laws, then he cannot 
change the consequences of their habitual violation. Con¬ 
sequently sin, and misery, and moral degradation are the 
inevitable and only fruits which that spirit can bear which 
kindles war. 

If a Christian cannot fight in heaven, he cannot fight on 
earth. For if that disposition of the heart which incites him 
to kill his brother, is holy here,—if God can make it holy 
here, then it may be holy still in heaven. Is it a 
baseless assertion to say, that a Christian cannot engage 
in any office or action in which he must hate or kill 
his brother ? And can he kill his brother in war without 
being affected with emotions more malignant than common 
hatred ? without violating that great law of love, upon which 
hang all the laws that God has given to man ? We do not 
say that the benighted savage cannot fight, upon whose dark, 
lust-breeding heart the sublime precepts of the gospel never 
diffused their softening influence. We do not say that such 
maddened multitudes as, in the “ Reign of Terror,” voted by 
acclamation in the streets of Paris that there was no God, 
cannot fight. But we do say that the Christian cannot fight in 
any case in which Christ himself would not have fought. 


THE TWO SWORDS. 


Let us suppose that an army is to be raised for Austerlitz, 
Waterloo, or Bunker Hill. Able-bodied men, of all classes of 
the community, are urged to enlist. Religion, Patriotism, and 
every persuasive consideration, are urged upon men of different 
characters, to induce them to enter the ranks as soldiers. 
Among those who present themselves to offer them service, or 
learn its duties, let us suppose a meek-spirited, praying 
Christian draws near to the General, and with profound 
obeisance, humbly propounds the following questions:— 

May it please your Excellency, I have read the proclamation 
given under your hand, summoning all who love the Christian 
Religion and their country, to enrol themselves under your 
standard, and march with you to the field of battle. I have 
never done military duty with carnal weapons; but I have 
long been a common soldier of the Cross. I have served for 
many years under the great Captain of my Salvation, who is 
still riding forth from conquering to conquer; who never 
suffered a defeat, or failed of a victory. I have come clad in 
his uniform, armed with his weapons, inspired with his spirit, 
accustomed to his discipline. As a good soldier, I always obey 
his orders, without question or hesitation; and find that “ in 
keeping them there is great reward.” You have summoned 
me to enter your ranks as a Christian. Will you admit me in 
my Christian uniform and armour P May I still wield the 
sword that my captain put into my hands—the sword of his 
spirit ? Surely, you did not ask me to forswear his service, or 
forfeit my oath of allegiance to him, when you summoned me 



14 


THE TWO SWORDS. 


to enter your army. You summoned me to come as a soldier 
of the Cross,—as one of the Legion of the Lamb of God. As a 
soldier of the Cross I come, equipped according to the law of 
love. I am ready to do what I can to overcome all enemies of 
God and man. I have served many campaigns with my 
Captain in overcoming enemies. He has taught me the use of 
his sword himself, and with it I have conquered many foes by 
his side. I am ready to try that sword upon every enemy you 
or my country may have on earth, be he a giant cased in steel. 
But I fear I may not be able to keep rank with your soldiers 
here during the conflict; that I shall not find in such a thicket 
of bayonets free play for my sword, which is pointed to slay 
enmity , as well as enemies. My Captain, who slays more foes 
in a year than your Excellency ever slew in your life, has 
taught me to aim always at the heart of an enemy, while your 
soldiers aim at the throat. The standing orders of my com¬ 
mander have not varied one jot or tittle since his great triumph 
over Death and Hell. They are written in crimson syllables 
across his victorious banner. Every good Christian soldier 
knows them by heart. Read them yourself:—“ Love your 
enemies; bless them that curse you; do good unto them that hate 
you; and pray for them which despitefully use you , and persecute 
your These are his camp and campaign orders. Then there 
are others for close action :—“ If thine enemy hunger, feed him; 
if he thirst, give him drink." No weapon formed by man can 
prevail against this mode of attack. No armour of iron, steel, 
or brass can prevent this shaft from piercing an enemy’s heart. 
It kills and makes alive at one blow. It kills an enemy, and 
creates a friend in the same heart. It not only destroys an 
enemy, but enmity itself. I am ready to overcome your 
enemies and my own, and my country’s with these weapons. 
Shall I pass muster for your ranks ? May I use my own 
sword, and fight in my own way? May I bleed out the 
hatred of the enemy’s heart, without shedding a drop of his 
blood ? May I love him, and pray for him, on the very eve of 
the conflict; and when he bears down upon me in battle array, 


THE TWO SWORDS. 


15 


may I receive him oil the point of my Captain’s sword ? May 
I heap coals of fire on his head, and melt him down into lamb¬ 
like submission, in the Gospel way ? 

Let either of the great generals of modern times answer for 
themselves. We will not presume to put our words into their 
mouths. Buonaparte, the very genius of war, assayed the 
qualities requisite for a good soldier of the carnal weapon 
order. Says he; “ the worse the man , the better the soldier” 
The distinguished commander who outgeneraled Napoleon, 
has said substantially in the hearing of the world: “ No person 
with nice scruples about religion, ought to enter the army.” Tes¬ 
timonies from similar sources might be multiplied in evidence 
of the fact, that a Christian, in the full uniform of Christ, 
cannot fight. The recruiting sergeant will not have any thing 
to do with him. He will not pass muster. He is disqualified 
for military service by every attribute of Christianity. He 
cannot serve under two captains. He must forsake one or the 
other. The spirit of Christ which circulates in his heart dis¬ 
qualifies him for the duties of a soldier. Bring him before any 
court martial in Christendom, and, if it could be proved that 
he had acted out the spirit of Christ in the hour of battle; 
that he had prayed for the enemy, and blessed and fed them, he 
would be hung for treason upon the first tree. Or if it could 
be known that he would act in this manner if brought into 
combat, would he not be declared non compos mentis for a 
soldier, and sent back to his field or workshop, with the caveat 
sounding in his cars: No person with nice scruples about 
religion has any business in the army ? 


WOMAN IN THE FIELD OF PEACE. 

All hail to her advent to this field of philanthropy ! Here is 
a work for the finest attributes of her nature. Here is a field 
wherein she may work like an angel, and sing like an angel, 
“ Peace on earth and good will to men.” Here she may sow 



16 


THE TWO SWORDS. 


the green memorials of her love, and breathe the foliage and 
taste the fruits of that spirit which, in all the latitudes of hu¬ 
manity, and in all the cycles of time and eternity, can bring 
forth naught else than “ love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentle¬ 
ness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance.” To her who 
bathed the feet of her Lord with her tears, and wiped them 
away, as they fell, with the hairs of her head, an everlasting 
memorial was promised, an affectionate remembrance which 
should co-exist and co-extend with the gospel of peace. Wher¬ 
ever this gospel has been preached for the last eighteen cen¬ 
turies, this promise has been verified to the mention and 
remembrance of that act of female sensibility and sympathy 
and enduring affection. When “ the knowledge of God shall 
cover the earth as the waters the sea,” and the light of his 
gospel as the light of the sun, the memorial of that woman’s 
deed will be fulfilled. But there is a memorial promised, before 
“ more worlds than this,” to acts of similar spirit, “ done unto 
the least of these little ones,” recognized by a Common Father 
as his children, irrespective of clime, colour, or condition. 
Through these woman may do all that Mary did unto Him 
whose feet she washed with her tears. 


“ I CAN FOKGIVE HIM IF YOU CAN.” 

One of our correspondents has communicated the following 
incident, related by the teacher of a Lancasterian School. “ A 
few days since,” says the master, “ one of the bigger boys, 
without any provocation, struck Charles a very violent blow 
on the face, which came to my knowledge. I called up the 
boys, according to my custom, around my desk, forming a sort 
of jury; and having heard both sides of the case, decided to 
chastise the culprit severely; when Charles stepped from the 
ranks, the tears still streaming down his cheeks from the 
effects of the blow, and said : ‘ Please teacher , I can forgive him 
if you can .’ I need not add, I could not flog him after such an 
appeal.” 



“WILL IT BE SAFE?” 


If “ the children of this world are wiser in their generation,” 
they are still, in a far higher degree, braver in the service of 
their master, “ than the children of light.” Contrast, for a 
moment, the courage and obedience of the hired soldier of the 
carnal weapon order, with the courage and obedience of the 
soldier of the cross, who has professedly enlisted for life under 
the Captain of his salvation, and to whom a crown of immortal 
glory is promised, as the reward of “ a good fight of faith,” and 
of obedience to the commands of his Master, unswerving and 
enduring to the end. Here are thousands and tens of thousands 
of men, “ living without hope and without God in the world,” 
who can be hired for a shilling a day to do and endure, with¬ 
out a question or a murmur’, whatever a godless man shall 
command. For a stipulated period and price, they make this 
godless man them God, and yield him an obedience which the 
King of Kings does not ask of the saints and subjects of his 
sceptre ; for He, in the sublimest revelations of his sovereignty, 
has associated with all his commands evidence, as unquestion¬ 
able as his existence, that they are holy, just, and good, and 
that in keeping them there is not only a reasonable , reasoning, 
rational service, but an exceeding great reward to the obedient. 
But, in the covenant which the common soldier enters into with his 
military commander, no surety is given him that the commands 
which he will be compelled to obey will be just, or good, or 



18 


“ WILL IT BE SAFE.” 

reasonable, or designed in the least to promote his own happiness. 
Reason and conscience are excluded from his obedience. Reason 
is treason to his contract. The sendee demanded of him is the 
unreasoning, unquestioning, unmurmuring service of a tongueless 
slave. In this character, and for the lowest wages of sin, he 
marches away to the field of battle, a mere machine for murder, 
locked closely in the serried rank of particoloured automatons 
which have sold themselves into this degrading sendtude for 
the same price per head. The soldier of the cross knows what 
commandments he will have to obey before he enlists under the 
Captain of his salvation ; and he enters his service 'with his 
eyes open to its responsibilities. — But the carnal-weaponed 
slave of the military commander of tills world follows his leader 
in the blindest obedience, not knowing what new and God- 
defying orders will come on the morrow for him to obey. With 
reverence we say it, the battle-field is the Mount Sinai of the 
only Decalogue he is permitted to obey, and in the midst of its 
quaking thunders, and lightnings, and groanings unutterable, 
and rain of iron and rivulets of gurgling blood, he both receives 
and obeys the new commandments of his “ superior officer.” 
See him now marching up to the mouth of the loaded cannon 
without winking at the glare of the lighted match. Does he 
tremble, and turn back to his commander to ask, if it will be 
safe to obey his orders ? See him springing with his fellows 
upon a thicket of bayonets, bridging the breach in the walls of 
a beleaguered city! Did he and his companions, before they 
impaled themselves upon the sharpened steel, stop to inquire if 
it would be safe to make the plunge; to question whether the 
order that bid them do it were just, and good, and reasonable ? 
No! they deem themselves to have nothing to do with the 
consequences of their blind obedience, nor any other reward for 
it than the advance pay of a shilling a day, which perhaps they 
have already received. 

Now turn to the professing Christian, who claims to be a 
soldier of the cross, and fighting the good fight of faith for a 
crown of eternal life and glory, which is promised him if he 


19 


“ WILL IT BE SAFE.” 

endure unto the end. The fight of faith is the name of his 
warfare—faith unshaken, unswerving and enduring to the end, 
in the Captain of his salvation;—faith, fortified by personal 
experience, that He and all his commandments are holy, just, 
and good ; that in keeping them there is great reward here and 
hereafter; that they were given expressly to promote his own 
best good, and that obedience to them is his most reasonable 
sendee, as it secures the best promise and condition of this 
present world, and in the world to come, life, and glory, and 
honour everlasting. “ If a man love me, he will keep my 
commandments,” says Christ. Well, the commandment comes 
to our Christian soldier, “ Love your enemies; bless them that 
curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them 
which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” He knows that 
this commandment is as holy, just, and good, as any one ever 
issued from his Divine Master, and that unquestioning obedience 
to it is his most reasonable service. But does he imitate the 
obedience of the common soldier to his military commander ? 
No! he halts at the first step towards his duty, and asks with 
timid suspicion, “ Will it be safe f ” Test his obedience to the 
series of these great commandments, by which alone he can 
prove his fidelity to his Master. 

“ Resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy 
right cheek, turn to him the other also.” 

Christian Soldier .—“ Will it be safe f ” 

“ If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him 
drink.” 

Christian Soldier .—“ Will it be safe ? ” 

“ Put up again thy sword into his place; for all they that 
take the sword shall perish with the sword.” 

Christian Soldier .—“ Will it be safe ? ” 

“ And is safety to our persons, property, convenience, or 
comfort, the indispensable condition of our obedience to the 
commandments of our Heavenly Master P Where or what 
would be the fight of faith, if the Christian soldier should 
demand, on enlisting undtr the banner of the cross, a guarantee 


20 


“ WILL IT BE SAFE.” 

that he should he safe in every extreme case of conflict, in 
every hour and act of duty ? O shame ! shame! shall the car¬ 
nal weapon soldier plunge upon the paling of serried bayonets 
for the poor pittance of his pre-paid shilling, without question¬ 
ing the reason and justice of the godless mortal that bids him 
do it, and shall an heir of immortality, in the beginning or in 
the midst of his warfare for a crown incorruptible, and starred 
with the brightest jewels in heaven, recoil from obeying the 
first command of his Lord and Master, to ask, “ Will it be 
safe ? ” 


THE DIVINE PHILOSOPHY OF MISFORTUNES. 

What a cold, cast-iron, selfish world this would be, if 
flesh and blood Were heir to no misfortunes! if we had not 
the poor with us always! if there were none to help, to 
pity, to love, if there were no perils by flood, fire, and 
field! no pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor destroyer 
that wasteth at noonday! Were it not for these calamities 
and misfortunes incident to us all individually and collectively, 
the great heart of humanity would stagnate like the heavens 
without electricity, or a lake of fresh water without inlet, 
outlet and motion. The best qualities of human nature would 
never see the light; sympathy never would expand beyond 
self; and society would become one vast, arid, dewless expanse 
of selfishness. 


GOD IS A SUN, 

And man is in his perihelion when he can love and forgive 
like God. The personation of sin is darkness—outer, utter¬ 
most darkness ; and he who loves revenge as Satan does, must 
flee to his own place, beyond the light of God’s countenance. 





FIXED PRINCIPLES 


The same, yesterday, to-day, and for ever; here, there, every¬ 
where, the same; without variation, parallax, or even “ shadow 
of turning,” or seeming of deflection. Such is the God we 
worship. Such is the prime attribute of His being; the feature 
of His Godhead which the uplifted eyes of the human soul 
first meet and adore in its humble supplication. Its impress 
is stamped upon every page of His material universe and moral 
government. His character is fixed. He cannot himself change 
his attributes; and while they remain immutable, he cannot 
change his laws, or the great principles upon which they are 
based. These are fixed for ever—for all time, for all eternity. 
In them there is no variableness nor shadow of turning, among 
all the vicissitudes of time and the mutations of mortality. 
Man may drift about like the helmless aeronaut or mariner, 
upon every wind or wave of temporary expediency; he may 
make a law imto himself, six days in the week, to bend his 
course to the bias of the cross-currents of his experience; he 
may steer his bark by the delusive light of a vessel, frail as 
his own, and floating sea-ward on the same stream ; but, “firm 
as a rock,” the truths of God shall stand for ever. Among all 
the aberrations of humanity, a fixed Throne, fixed stars, fixed 
laws, fixed principles, will abide in their power and perma¬ 
nency, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. As in the 
material world, the power, the principle, or the law of gravity 
is fixed—is the same to-day as at the first day of creation—so 
in the moral world, the power, the principle, or the law of 



22 


FIXED PRINCIPLES. 


love is fixed—is the same as when the morning stars sang for 
joy over the infant earth, or the angels of God over the 
manger-cradle of its infant Saviour. These two great powers 
or principles are fixed—unchanged and changeless. And 
equally so are the laws through which they act—the one upon 
matter, the other upon man. As the law of gravity will never 
act with a greater force of attraction upon the material world 
than at the present moment, so the law of love will never act 
upon mankind with a greater force of obligation than to-day. 
The cross may draw human souls to it more multitudinously 
in coming ages; but no new, positive power will be added to 
its attraction. Once, for all, and for ever, was the Son of Man 
lifted up thereon; once, for all, and for ever, was that crown¬ 
ing manifestation of God’s love to mankind,—“ It is finished ! ” 
The book of Divine revelation is for ever closed. Were there 
a blank leaf remaining, the sword of the cherubim would 
strike the daring pen that should venture to add thereto 
promise or prophecy. Neither Sinai, nor the Mount of Olives, 
or of Transfiguration, will ever tremble or glow again with the 
presence and will of the Godhead. The fires of Divine revela¬ 
tion will never be re-illumined on their sacred summits. “ It 
is finished! ” Through all the future generations of mankind, 
there will be no new Gospel, no other Gospel than this we 
have, given by God to man; nor other promise, prophecy, or 
command, than is now written therein. Whatever may be the 
moral condition of humanity in the Millennium, or by what¬ 
soever stages it shall attain to that condition, the Christians of 
those long years of earthly beatitude will have no other than 
this Bible of ours, as a lamp unto their feet, and a light to 
their path. No new commandment will be added to its sta¬ 
tutes. Not one of them will be more binding upon the con¬ 
science of the millennial Christian, than upon every human 
being to which it is revealed to-day. Not one of them will 
acquire new' force of obligation, or possess a claim to obedience 
which it cannot press now. “ Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God, with all thy soul, mind, and strength, and thy neighbour 
as thyself,” commands the unwavering homage of the human 
heart, with as full purpose of the Divine Mind now, as it will 
in the Millennium. The great principle wiiich shone with pre- 


FIXED PRINCIPLES. 


23 


eminent lustre in the triumph of the cross, and found utter¬ 
ance in the Saviour’s prayer for his enemies, will take no new 
form of law or illustration for his followers. Then, as now, this 
grand doctrine of his life will be pressed upon their espousal 
by the simple precepts which he uttered and illustrated, all 
the way from the manger to the cross :—“ Resist not evil. 
Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Overcome 
evil with good.” These will be no new commandments to the 
disciples of that era; nor will they claim obedience by any 
obligation which does no trest upon every Christian of to-day. 
On this important point we believe thousands of even honest- 
minded persons indulge erroneous impressions. Many seem to 
entertain the notion, that a sliding-scale, of obedience may be 
adopted in reference to these great commandments of Christ; 
that the obligation to obey them is graduated by the circum¬ 
stances of the times, and the habits and disposition of the 
generation in which we live; that in the Millennium they will 
have full force upon the Christian’s mind and life; then it will 
be his duty and privilege to yield his heart to their complete 
sway, because all will do the same; then they will be practi¬ 
cable, because they will be popular. It will be a good and a 
pleasant thing to love our enemies, when there are none to 
offend us; to bless ideal cursers and haters, when there are 

none to molest or make us afraid. But until the human race 

♦ 

cross over into the Millennium, those who bear the ark of the 
New Covenant may beat their own path through the inter¬ 
vening wilderness, though it diverge from the straight and 
narrow way charted by their Forerunner and Guide; that they 
may follow the beacon-lights of shifting expediency, and mea¬ 
sure their faith and obedience after the standard of contempo¬ 
raneous circumstances or current morality. We cannot see 
how those can evade this conclusion, who maintain that these 
precepts of Christ, to which we have referred, will be more 
obligatory on the Christian in the Millennium than to-day. 
We cannot see how such persons can deny, that they admit of 
a sliding-scale of obedience, graduated from the millennial line 
of perfection down to the lowest water-mark of popular mo¬ 
rality; even to a level of complete conformity with the sur¬ 
rounding world and its practices. But perhaps they do not 


24 


FIXED PRINCIPLES. 


habituate their minds to contemplate the graduations of this 
scale downward, to see where they would sink, if they should 
descend, instead of ascending it. Perhaps they have kept then- 
eye on its upper marks, and contemplated the millennial line 
of perfect obedience, which the Christian might reach by a 
series of transgressions, diminishing by degrees, and waning 
beautifully less, into complete conformity with the mind and 
will of his Divine Master. We would earnestly entreat such 
to turn their eyes the other way, and see the fathomless bog 
into which the downward gradations of this scale would land 
them. Instead of standing on the fixed, immoveable Rock of 
Ages, they must feel their feet resting on the shifting quick¬ 
sands of human expediency to rise and sink with its capricious 
tide. Let them test this doctrine by its inevitable result, and 
they must abandon it. 

Suppose the Millennium had indeed come, in the fullest 
fruition of its beatitude; nay, suppose that happy condition 
had expanded into heaven itself on earth, with all its holiness 
and happiness, and that all the inhabitants of the globe had 
ascended into its joy and communion by the sliding-scale of 
this temporising obedience. Suppose that at the expiration 
of the thousand years of this blissful existence, one being 
after another should be left to venture downward on that 
scale by one gradation less than full perfection; thence to 
another, until all but yourself had descended to utter darkness, 
and sin beyond redemption. Could you, standing alone in the 
presence of the Judge of all the earth, plead this universal 
defection, and ask to be released from the full obligation of 
His law, because all the rest of his creatures had broken it, 
and fallen back to night everlasting under the weight of the 
transgression ? But if heaven and earth should pass away, 
before one jot or tittle of that law or its authority should fail, 
even in these circumstances, how can a Christian withhold full 
obedience to these commandments of Christ, on the plea that 
it is only practicable and obligatory in the Millennium ? 


INDIVIDUAL RESPONSIBILITY. 


“ Thou art the man.” “ Thou shalt not kill.” “ Thou shalt 
not steal.” “ Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
soul, mind, and strength, and thy neighbour as thyself.” All 
the revelations of the Divine will—all the commands, motives 

5 

and monitions, which God has given to men, are addressed to 
the individual. The soul of every human being is an ever¬ 
lasting, immiscible individuality. No association, or combina¬ 
tion^ or fusion can take away one attribute, of that individuality, 
or transfer the merit or guilt of its actions and emotions to 
another. “ Corporations have no souls,” is a popular proverb 
of undisputed truism. But there is a truth involved in this 
axiom of more serious import and extensive application than 
the expression usually intended to convey. A family has no 
soul, nor any association of men, however great or small. A 
nation has no soul. God breathed into the individual man 
alone that vital faculty of immortality. Families, communities, 
and nations, are the temporary arrangements of this passing 
existence. They will have no place in another world. There 
all the human beings that have peopled this earth will see 
themselves as they are seen now—as individuals. No moral 
responsibilities for which requisition shall be made by Infinite 
Justice, will attach to such nonentities as nations, communities, 
or families. No government nor any human society will be 
summoned to that great tribunal to answer for his deeds, as a 



26 


INDIVIDUAL RESPONSIBILITY. 


corporate body on earth. There they will be resolved into 
individuals, each to render an account for all the transactions 
of his life, and the thoughts and intents of his own heart. 
The short-sighted vision of man may see the human race only 
in communities; just as one looks up into the Milky Way, and 
fancies it a zone of stars, fused into a white river of light. But 
aid the eye with a powerful telescope, and the Milky Way 
disappears. All its white particles of light are resolved into 
individual stars, each shining with its own sharp lustre, distinct 
from the rest, and separated from its neighbour by a well- 
defined space of sky. So it will be when men shall see them¬ 
selves as they are seen now by Him whose eye sees the race 
fused in no dim Milky Way of humanity, but resolved into 
individualities, each as distinct in being and responsibility as if 
it existed alone on the earth. No human transactions will 
escape his justice. They will all be brought to his bar for their 
righteous reward. But no nation, or cummunity, or family, 
will be banished from his presence, or welcomed to its blessed¬ 
ness, in its associated capacity. The sentence or invitation 
will be addressed to individuals alone. All the sins that have 
been committed on the earth, from the murder of Abel to the 
last act and thought of malice, will there all be put to the 
account of individuals. God has opened no debt and credit 
account with nations to be settled on that solemn day. When 
“ the books are opened,” the names of individuals will alone be 
called. No human government, or dynasty, or community, 
will be cited to appear in that court, either as criminal or 
witness. 

And yet, with all the light of Divine revelation making 
these convictions clear, thousands of professing Christians seem 
to hesitate and stumble at the question of individual responsi¬ 
bility. From the time that the Christian religion was first 
suborned into the service and sanction of human governments, 
its professors have sought to make its requirements coincide 
with the existing laws of the land. And whenever those laws 
violate the plainest precepts of Christianity, it has been argued 


INDIVIDUAL RESPONSIBILITY. 


27 


that the moral responsibility of the act devolves entirely upon 
the government or nation. For instance, if a government calls 
upon its subjects to take up arms, and fill a neighbouring 
country with fire and blood, the government or nation is alone 
responsible for the war, and must answer for all its deeds of 
violence; and none of its guilt can attach to the individuals 
who, as the subjects of that government, obey its commands to 
the letter. Hence it is maintained that Christian men, when 
thus summoned to the field, may, as good subjects or citizens, 
take a part in the bloodiest fights, either as common soldiers 
or officers, without question or scruple in reference to the moral 
responsibility of the acts they are commanded to perpetrate. 
If the conscience, with an instinctive presentiment that eternal 
justice will make inquisition somewhere, asks how, when, or 
where the guilty government or nation is to be punished, it is 
told that it will be punished in this world. Or, to embody the 
principle in a form which has come to be apparently a standard 
axiom of morality, “Nations are punished in this world, but 
individuals in the next.” 

And this doctrine is maintained by many who believe that 
Infinite Justice will award to every individual eternal punish¬ 
ment for the unpardoned sins of his heart and life in this 
world. They believe that “ every idle word that men (or indi¬ 
viduals) shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day 
of judgmentthat individual sins, either of secret emotion or 
open act, will not only be punished in some degree in this life, 
but be carried up to that final tribunal, to be sentenced to an 
eternity of punishment, unless forgiven here. Infinite Justice, 
they maintain, can do no less than this for the sins of indivi¬ 
dual men. But, though the individual who says to his brother, 
thou fool , shall be in danger of eternal punishment, God will 
not call nations to a reckoning in another world for their sins, 
though they burn the earth over with hottest flames of war, 
and drench it with the blood of millions. According to this 
doctrine, a battle like that of Waterloo, or even Bunkers-hill, 
or Buona Vista, is a mere bagatelle in the sight of God, com- 

C 2 




28 


INDIVIDUAL RESPONSIBILITY. 


pared with the crime of one unforgiven thought of malice, or 
murder, in the heart of a single human being towards his 
fellow! Whatever crime may attach to these enormous homi¬ 
cides, the guilt of it is on the government or nation, and, if 
punished at all, will be punished in this w r orld, perhaps by 
some temporal judgment diffused gently over the nation, so as 
not to reach the individuals of which it is composed, for they 
are to be held innocent of the sin of these bloody deeds! Push 
this principle to its legitimate conclusion, and where do you 
end ? Apply it to the Mexican war, for instance. The Ame¬ 
rican Government declares this war to be just and necessary, 
and summons its subjects to take up arms and march to Mexico. 
According to the doctrine in hand, no nice scruples about the 
Christianity, morality, or justice of the war are to be enter¬ 
tained or offered by those summoned to the battle-field. They 
are not responsible for its deeds of violence and blood. These 
will all be put to the account of the government or nation. 
They have only to do their duty as soldiers—that is, to kill 
whom they are commanded to kill, and burn wdiat they are 
commanded to burn, and to ask no questions, oppose no scruples. 
No moral responsibility is to attach to them for these acts. 
A Christian may take part in them, as a good subject, with 
a good conscience — that is, with the nation’s conscience, 
for his own must be quiet in the matter. Well, on the 
other side, all the subjects of Mexico are in the same 
relation to their government, and it summons them to 
meet the Americans in battle array. They, too, are to do 
what they are commanded, ask no questions, incur no moral 
responsibilities for the acts which unwavering obedience re¬ 
quires of them. Here, then, we have two regularly ordained 
nations face to face on the field of battle. The signal is given, 
and they fall to their work of mutual slaughter. Night closes 
upon the scene of human butchery. Thousands of mutilated 
beings lie strewed on the earth, dead, dying, or writhing in 
their blood. The day’s work is done: the recording angel 
flies heavenward with the report of its deeds. He recognises 


INDIVIDUAL RESPONSIBILITY. 


29 


only two parties to the transaction, and they are the two belli¬ 
gerent governments. The officers and soldiers of both armies 
are no more to be charged with the doings of that day of blood 
than the cold steel weapons they wielded! The sin of a thou¬ 
sand homicides is a national sin, not to be reckoned in the 
black list of individual crimes, and subjected with them to the 
punishments of another world! Push the principle a little 
further, and array all the governments of the earth against each 
other, and bring all then’ subjects into the collision of the 
battle-field. Let all the emotions and actions of all the inhabi¬ 
tants of the earth be absorbed for ten years in this universal 
war, and then it would not rank in guilt and punishment with 
the unrepented and unpardoned sin of one human heart! It 
would not be comited in making up the awards of eternity! 
Infinite Justice would be satisfied for the crime with some tem¬ 
poral and indistinct retribution in this world! 

Awful doctrine! What human conscience can help recoiling 
from the fearful sequence of its sophistry ? Who, that has a 
moral conscience at all, could contemplate such stupendous 
inequalities in the administration of Infinite Justice without a 
shudder ? Can any serious mind, in the light of divine revela¬ 
tion, be seduced into the belief of such a doctrine ? Yes, there 
are thousands and tens of thousands of professing Christians 
who both believe and teach it. We would entreat all such, 
and all exposed to yield to the seductions of this sophistry, to 
consider that the solemn declaration is addressed to every man 
individually:—“ Know thou that for all these things God will 
bring thee ”—not thy government or nation—“ into judgment.” 


GOD’S POWER WITH MEN. 

During the long dark ages of violence and despotism which 
have reigned on the earth, the millions have worshipped the 
beast of brute force which trod them in the dust. The terri¬ 
ble experience of humanity, reaching back to the murder of 
Abel, and forward to the battle of Waterloo, and forward still 



30 


god’s power with men. 


even to these last years of civilisation, has not weaned them 
from this devotion. People walking with fettered feet over 
the graves of great nations, whose life this beast had trodden 
out; populations groping and groaning with padlocked lips 
among the prison-houses of despotism which it had filled, still 
fell down at its feet and worshipped it, and fed and pampered 
it with them strength, and believed that it was the only power 
under heaven that could dethrone tyranny and raise men to 
freedom and fraternity. The sun of civilisation arose high 
and bright, and its science worked marvels in the world, but it 
marshalled its mightiest agencies on the side of this power. 
One hundred million men on the Continent bowed low to its 
supremacy; and then* strongest minds, that could mine out 
new suns and worlds from the unfathomed depths of space, 
and fill the earth with mighty and immortal thoughts—even 
these trembled at the shadow of a Cossack, and fancied that 
the high road of human progress might be barricaded by a 
soldier’s bayonet. Popular freedom—free speech—free press— 
free conscience! What hope of these great prerogatives in 
face of the vast military organisations at the command of 
dynasties, whose existence depends upon the suppression of 
these rights of the people ? What force can you array against 
this mighty, unreasoning bayonet-power ? they have asked, in 
the triumph of their despair. Socrates, Seneca, and Solomon, 
do you give it up ? Then listen to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, 
“/say unto you , resist not evil, but overcome evil with good!” 
There is a proposition for you, which the wayfaring man, 
though a fool—or a peasant, if you please—may understand. 
Eighteen hundred years ago it was “ foolishness to the Greeks,” 
and they curled up their lips in scorn at it. It may be foolish¬ 
ness to the Germans now, and their proud intellects may scoff 
at it; but there is in it a truth and a power that neither 
Grecian nor German philosophy ever dreamed of. We would 
invite you to grasp the import of these simple words. You 
have brought us into the presence of the great standing armies 
of the Continent, and said, “ See what manner of men are 


god’s power with men. 


31 


here; what instruments of sudden destruction they wield; how 
swift to shed blood would they be at the word of command! 
What force can you pit against the grape and canister of those 
great-mouthed cannon, or oppose to those sharp and glittering 
bayonets, to the thundering charge of those regiments of 
cavalry P What but legions of men, stronger and more nume¬ 
rous than these trained warriors, can bind them, or keep them 
from spoiling the people of their rights and hopes of progress ?” 
In the simple Gospel words we have cited is revealed a power 
stronger than all the armies of the world—God’s power among 
men, with which one may chase a thousand, and two put ten 
thousands to flight of those who are armed with steel alone. 
He knew that there would be standing armies and standing 
evils, which would beset and oppress individuals, communities, 
and nations; and to men in each of these conditions he gave 
this power, to turn to straw the bayonets that surrounded 
them. “ Resist not evil, but overcome evil with good.” Here we 
have this power described, first as a condition, then as a capa¬ 
city ; first in endurance, then in aggression; first in defence, 
then in conquest. “ Resist not evil;” that is, oppose not evil 
to evil; pit not violence against violence, wrong against 
wrong, reviling against reviling. This is what is called pas¬ 
sive resistance , or the condition or capacity of enduring or 
suffering reviling, wrong, and outrage, without returning the 
like in kind. This is the lowest manifestation of the power 
we are considering; and, compared with its whole strength, 
it is the light of a winter’s day sleeping on the ice, compared 
with the light and heat of the summer sun. Passive resistance 
is this power acting on the defensive; but, when it takes the 
field as a conqueror, it manifests the divinity of its irresistible 
energies; it “ overcomes evil with good;” it opposes love to 
hate, blessing to cursing. It feeds, and clothes, and comforts 
the enemy, and melts out of his heart its hostility, and fills it 
with the spirit of gentleness and good-will. Few individuals 
have had grace enough given them to grasp and apply this 
overcoming power of good in all its strength. Scarcely a 


32 


god’s power with men. 


single community has done it. Even the great example of 
William Penn, in his treaty and intercourse with the wild 
Indians of North America, does not furnish a full illustration 
of the overcoming capacity of good opposed to evil, of love 
opposed to hate. The painted savages were not in a state of 
active hostility to him and his community when he first met 
them. His first interview or transaction with them was like 
that of brother with brother, friend with friend. He did not 
meet or overcome them as enemies. They never were his 
enemies; and through all the long years of their mutual 
friendship and intercourse, he had no occasion to overcome 
their evil intentions with his good-will, their hate with his 
love, their reviling with his blessing. 


“ THE LONG RANGE ” OF THE GOSPEL. 

“ Warner’s Long Range ” is a good deal spoken of nowa¬ 
days, as a wonderful invention for killing enemies. But let 
me tell that Warner, and all other geniuses of his cast, that 
such inventions are all a humbug. Such tactics and tools are 
all too short-sighted and short bitted for the work proposed. 
Enemies are as immortal as any malignant spirits, and you 
might as well hope to shoot sin stone dead, as shoot an enemy. 
There is but one way given under heaven by which one can 
kill an enemy; and that is, by putting coals of fire on his head; 
that does the business for him at once. Lie in wait for him, 
and when you catch him in trouble, faint from hunger or thirst, 
or shivering with cold, spring upon him like a good Samaritan, 
with your hands, eyes, tongue, and heart full of good gifts. 
Feed him, give him drink, and warm him with clothing, and 
words of kindness; and he is done for. You have killed an 
enemy and made a friend at one shot. 



I 


THE LAST WARRIOR. 


Most of our readers are well acquainted with that master¬ 
piece of Campbell, “ The Last Man.” Perhaps they have also 
contemplated with admiration the sublime grandeur in which 
the artist has represented him, standing on the grave of 
universal nature, and in the pride of his immortality, pointing 
his boastful exultation at the cold, leaden smi, paling into a 
shadow of death and night everlasting. What majestic cir¬ 
cumstances are thrown around this human being by the poet 
and painter! How the great globe, the moon and stars, with 
all their elements and arrangements, are rolled away like a 
veil of vapour, to reveal the hidden proportions of his destiny! 
The Last Man! How tall and terrible towers the stature of 
his immortality among the decadent pillars and debris of the 
material creation! Who can contemplate that image and idea 
without a feeling that sobers his admiration to awe ! 

But there is another being, shadowed forth in cloudy 
delineation by thousands and tens of thousands of professing 
Christians, on both sides of the Atlantic, which competes with 
“ The Last Man ” for our admiration. This is The Last 

Warrior. No artist has vet embodied the features and 

%} 

faculties of this ambiguous being in human personation; but 
they are distinctly drawn in the lines of a logic w T hich we 
would invite our readers to review. 

With all the encouraging progress which has been made in 

C 3 



34 


THE LAST WARRIOR. 


the convictions of the community in reference to the wicked¬ 
ness, folly, and waste of war, we are not warranted in the 
belief, that more than one in ten of the professing Christians 
of Great Britain and America have come to the full and fixed 
conclusion, that Christianity prohibits or condemns a recourse 
to arms in every case that may occur. One in ten would 
marshal a million of professing Cliristians into the ranks ot 
peace; into a host of its missionaries or advocates, every one ot 
whom, at the trial-time of his faith, would be ready to say, 
in the spirit and language of that early disciple of the Prince 
of Peace “ I am a Christian and cannot fight.” No ; not yet 
can we count upon one million; perhaps not upon half-a- 
million, on both sides of the Atlantic, who have arrived at this 
conviction. But blessed be His name, whose is the will that 
this work shall be wrought out to the fullest issues in the 
hearts of His children, and crown the consummation of His 
kingdom, the number coming to this fundamental conviction is 
increasing year by year; not rapidly, but encouragingly. But 
the great majority of those who have not espoused this prin¬ 
ciple, profess to believe that Christianity is ultimately to 
abolish war, while it sanctions it in certain extreme cases, the 
necessity of which is to be left to the decision of the nation 
which feels itself injured. And as these extreme cases may 
occur, they admit that it is not only a right, but a Christian duty 
to be in a state of preparation for them. When pressed a little 
further, they concede that this military preparation should be 
proportioned to the armaments of neighbouring nations, other¬ 
wise it w r ould be ineffectual in case of an invasion. Then one 
question more brings them generally to the admission of a 
doubt, whether the standing army of Great Britain or the 
United States is a whit too large, considering the military 
establishments of other powers. Thus they make Christianity 
uphold and sanction the practice which it is to abolish. 
Some are free to confess that ninety-nine w'ars out of a hun¬ 
dred that have been fought, cannot be justified on the principles 
of self-defence ; but that the hundredth may come yet, and in 


THE LAST WARRIOR. 


35 


view of that possibility, it is the duty of a Christian nation to 
be prepared for it continually. This state of preparation must 
be a permanent condition; not a sudden running to arms at 
some extraordinary aspect of peril. Thus Christianity is made 
to sanction the preparations for ninety-nine wars out of a 
hundred, which they grant it would condemn as aggressive or 
unnecessary. 

But, we are told, when the principles of Christianity have 
pervaded the whole earth, then wars will cease, because there 
will be no occasion of war; no offence that wall call for a 
recourse to arms; that until that sublime triumph of the 
Gospel, the prophecy must remain unfulfilled, “ nation shall 
not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war 
any more;” that up to this threshold year of the millennium, 
Christian nations must expect war; and expecting, must 
prepare for war; and preparing, must learn the art of war. 
Following tliis principle to its legitimate end, one must arrive 
at the conclusion, that when the dominion of paganism or 
infidelity has been narrowed down to the territory of some 
small island in the ocean, it will be still necessary that the 
Christian world around shall be a world in arms. Pursue the 
principle a little farther, and we have before us, in the 
Christian, the last man in arms; the last to sheathe his sword, 
and learn war no more; the last warrior. Here is a 
subject for that master-pencil which drew “ The Last Man.” 
With what thrilling and graphic circumstances might the 
artist surround this soldier of the cross! "Who cannot fancy 
some of the leading images and ideas of the picture ? There 
stands the hero, serene and erect, in the great triumph of 
Christianity. Faithful to the commission of his Divine 
Master, he has gone forth into the world, and preached his 
evangel of redeeming love to every creature. Its power has 
subdued the heathen; and the last pagan has burnt or buried 
his gods of wood and stone, and bowed to the sceptre of 
Emmanuel. And as he bowed and worshiped at the cross, 
he broke his weapons of war, and the dominion of hate was 


36 


THE LAST WARRIOR. 


broken in his broken spirit, and his face gleams with the light 
of the love of God and man that lives in his heart. The 
Christian missionary stands contemplating this crowning 
triumph of the Gospel. Believing that it was the power and 
wisdom of God to subdue all nations, kindreds, and tongues, to 
the sceptre of His Son, he has, nevertheless, doubted that it 
was the power and wisdom of God for his personal defence and 
safety. Up to the conversion of the last pagan he has there¬ 
fore, worn a sword by his side, as a preparation against the 
sudden assault of ungodly men. But now, when all the other 
swords of the world have been beaten into ploughshares, he 
breaks his, and throws its fragments on the ground; and, with 
uplifted eyes and hands, rejoices in the full and final triumph 
of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. In this attitude and aspect, 
let the artist sketch him as the last warrior. 

Such would be a truthful picture of the Christian, if the 
doctrine be true, that Christianity sanctions war in certain 
extreme cases, as nine-tenths of the professed disciples of the 
Prince of Peace maintain. We would earnestly entreat such 
to consider seriously the tendency and issue of this doctrine; 
to examine it prayerfully and honestly, and see if it can be 
consistent with the mind that was in Jesus Christ. 


A Hard Saying. — “ Why do you come here, Wolfe ? ” said 
a Jew to that missionary in Jerusalem. “ To preach the Gospel 
of Peace,” replied Wolfe. “ Peace ! ” retorted the Jew : “ look 
here at Calvary, where your different sects of Christians would 
fight for an empty sepulchre, if the sword and the Mussulman 
did not restrain you. When the true Messiah comes he will 
banish war.” 



THE FINGERS OE CHRISTIANITY. 


If there he one sentiment which, more than any other, is 
common to Christians of all denominations and countries, it is 
the sentiment inspired by the conviction, that the principles and 
spirit of Christianity are alone capable of exterminating from 
the earth, war, slavery, and all other forms of violence, oppres¬ 
sion, and wrong. Thousands, and perhaps millions, of truly 
devout and pious persons believe and affirm that the simple 
preaching of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, accompanied by the 
pow r er and demonstration of the Holy Spirit, must and will do 
this great work. And thousands of the same belief feel that it 
is almost irreverent to associate with the principles and doc¬ 
trines of the Christian religion any considerations or interests 
founded upon mere humanity, economy, or political and com¬ 
mercial expediency. They would have the doctrines they 
profess all and in all, and above all, in the great victory to be 
won over the monstrous evils which afflict the world. Why, 
then, they sometimes ask, should professing Christians, men 
and women of undoubted piety, associate themselves in Peace 
Societies, Anti-slavery, Temperance, and scores of other Societies, 
to do a -work which ought to he the conquest of Christianity, 
and the mission of the Christian church ? Have not the first 
and foremost, the most indefatigable and unwavering advocates 
of these different enterprises of humanity, been members of the 
Christian church,—godly, prayerful men and women ? 

Certainly. 

Have they not arrayed against the systems of iniquity and 



38 


THE FINGERS OF CHRISTIANITY. 


wrong they combated, the principles and doctrines of the 
Gospel, which the Christian church alone professes to hold, 
preach and apply in their purity ? 

Certainly. 

Then, if both the principles and the men, that constitute the 
working vitality of these different Societies, are taken, as it 
were, from the very heart of the Christian church, why should 
they “ come out of her,” to a certain degree, in order to concen¬ 
trate their benevolent activities in other associations, into which 
unbelievers may be admitted P Can any Society on earth be 
better adapted, by its social organism, to eradicate war, slavery, 
intemperance, violence, and wrong, than the Christian church ? 

Certainly not. 

Then what plea of necessity can you institute for the 
association of Christians in these extraneous Societies ? 

To give Christianity a finger. 

To point its eternal principles and prohibitions straight into 
the face and eyes of sins and systems that have defied Christi¬ 
anity, and trampled humanity in the dust. 

Give Christianity a finger! 

Yes; to give it such a finger as John the Baptist pointed at 
the sin of Herod, when he said, in the audience of his parasites, 
“ It is not lawful for thee to do this thing.” Herod had braved 
the generalities of the Decalogue. He thought he had “ got 
around ” Moses, and made a satisfactory composition with the 
Scribes, Pharisees, and Levites of his day, in the matter of his 
brother’s wife. But when that austere missionary of the wilder¬ 
ness stood in his presence, and, seemingly with all the fiery 
javelins of Mount Sinai sharpened to barbed lightning in his 
finger, pointed at him and his sin by name, he quailed, concience- 
struck, before the personal application of the commandment. 
Had John contented himself with the abstractions of the law, 
and, like the Pharisees, tithed away its power upon the 
conscience, by revolving before the eyes of the sinner generalities 
which he might escape, Herod would not have been troubled, 
nor the man of God thrown into prison. Perhaps if he had 


THE FINGERS OF CHRISTIANITY. 


39 


only said, “ It is not lawful for a man to have his brother’s 
wife,” the tetrarch might have parried off the divine prohibition, 
and John have worn his head till the day of a natural death. 
But the faithful herald of the Son of God gave a finger to the 
commandment, which nailed the culprit to his crime. “ It is 
not lawful for thee to have her !” “ Thou art the man,” and 

this is the sin upon thy soul. • 

The Peace Society is only the finger of Christianity, pointed, 
like John the Baptist’s, at a monstrous and blood iniquity, 
which out-Herods all human crimes,—a finger that aims at the 
conscience of every human being the piercing point of the 
commandment, “ It is not lawful for thee to kill thy brother 
man upon the field of battle.” It is not lawful for thee to lay 
thy hands with murderous spirit and intent upon a human life; 
to shorten the probation of a human soul, and to peril all the 
precious possibilities of its immortality, for any evanescent con¬ 
sideration of time and sense. 

The Anti-slavery Society is only another finger of Chris¬ 
tianity, pointing the great rebuke of the Gospel of Christ against 
the slaveholder of every clime, country and colour; saying to 
him, with the emphasis of John’s declaration to Herod, “ It is 
not lawful for thee to have and to hold thy brother man in 
bondage.” It is not lawful for thee to bind, beat and chat- 
telize thy fellow-being, who, by the purchase of the Son of God, 
mav wear his immortality in the first rank of the redeemed in 
heaven. 

And were these and other fingers of Christianity unnecessary 
for the welfare of mankind, and for the honour and vitality of 
the Christian religion ? Had not Christian men and women 
waited long enough to see whether that simple preaching of the 
Gospel, which did not point its principles and prohibitions against 
specific systems of iniquity, would abolish those systems ? 
Had not the most godly and powerful divines of the modern 
world, lived and preached prior to the great slaughter-day of 
Waterloo ? And was the morrow of that awful day of blood 
too early for God-fearing men in different countries to associate 


40 


THE FINGERS OF CHRISTIANITY. 


themselves in Peace Societies, for the purpose of arraying the 
truths of divine revelation against a system which had proved 
itself to be the embodiment and aggravation of all human crimes ? 
When African slavery had gone on, for one hundred and fifty 
years, accumulating horrors and atrocities in its steady accretion 
of iniquity, and that, too, in the face and hearing of what was 
called “ the simple preaching of the Gospel,” was it too early 
for Christians of all denominations to associate themselves in 
Anti-slavery Societies, for the purpose of arraying the principles 
of their religion against a practice which had proved itself to 
be the sum of all villanies ? 

But we cannot concede to the persons who advance these 
objections, the justice of the terms they employ. That is not 
the simple preaching of the Gospel, in any truthful and honest 
sense, which leaves, untouched and unnamed—practices which 
dishonour religion and degrade humanity,—systems which 
involve the suspension of all the moral laws, and give ascendency 
to all the passions and malignities of which human nature is 
susceptible. Suppose the prophet Nathan had terminated his 
message to David with the mere recital of the parable of the 
poor man’s ewe lamb, and then politely bowed himself out of 
the royal presence, leaving his sovereign to deduce from the 
allegory an application to the hidden and darling sin of his 
heart. Would that have been the simple preaching of the 
Gospel he was commissioned to proclaim in the ears of the 
sinning king P Would God or his own conscience have been 
satisfied, if he had contented himself with the moralities he had 
thus generalised in his parable ? No; “ Thou art the man! ” 
was the finger and voice which carried the commandment into 
the very heart of the guilty monarch’s conscience, and “ his sin 
revived and he died” unto the law. 

But we need not travel back to the remote regions of the 
past, to find a proof of the position which we have illustrated 
by this example of the plain, pointed preaching of the Gospel. 
If there be a town in the United States, which might be 
regarded as the citadel and capital of American slavery, that 


THE FINGERS OF CHRISTIANITY. 


41 


town is Charleston, in South Carolina. Still, perhaps there is 
no town in the southern States in which there is a greater 
provision for “ the simple preaching of the Gospel,” as it is 
called, than in this metropolis of that inhuman system. Perhaps, 
in no town on the American continent, do the ministers of the 
Christian religion affect to preach its fundamental doctrines 
with greater power and purity, than those who fill the pulpits 
of that city. There, that “ simple preaching of the Gospel,” 
that never points a rebuke against human slavery, has been 
tested for more than a century, by all denominations of pro¬ 
fessing Christians. There, all the precepts of the moral law, all 
the truths of divine revelation, all the sentiments that are 
deemed just, generous, and humane, have been generalised and 
revolved, Sabbath after Sabbath, for a hundred years, without 
disturbing the conscience of the slaveholder. What lacks this 
administration of the Gospel ? W r hat attribute or faculty does 
it need, in order to fulfil its mission, “ to break every yoke,” and 
to let the prisoners of slavery go free ? It lacks a finger ,—an 
honest, unwavering finger, which shall point the lightnings of 
Sinai at the conscience of the slaveholder, until he shall gladly 
let the people go, whom he has made to grind in his house of 
bondage. And such a finger the Anti-slavery Society is 
organised expressly to supply. 

But we trust that the time has come, when Christian philan. 
thropists will not be pressed for an apology for associating 
themselves in Peace, Anti-slavery, Temperance, and kindred 
Societies. Why, the very existence of these Societies is a 
standing and palpable apology in itself,—an apology for the 
short-comings of the Christian church; a kind of extraneous 
supplement to her integrity; a kind of half excommiuiicated 
faculties, which should have been as dear to her as the apple 
of her eye; faculties which she should have wielded, with 
unanimous purpose, to the glory of God and the good of man¬ 
kind. If, at the Reformation, the Christian church had 
incorporated into its faith, practice, and preaching, those prin¬ 
ciples of the Christian religion whicli the friends of peace, 


42 


THE FINGERS OF CHRISTIANITY. 


freedom, and humanity have arrayed against war, slavery, and 
every form of oppression and wrong, there never would have 
been an apology for a Peace Society, or any association of 
kindred character. The existence of such a society would never 
have been dreamed of. And even now, we would confess, that 
these Societies are merely an apology, in its diminutive sense, 
for what the Christian church, in its permanent and mighty 
organism, might do for the abolition of all the evils against 
which we contend. If every one of the hundreds of thousands 
of Christian congregations, scattered over the face of the globe, 
would have a finger, like John the Baptist’s, pointing the rebuke 
of the Gospel, with unsparing honesty and unwavering pre¬ 
cision, against all the systems of violence and oppression which 
fill the world with misery, lamentation and woe, the Peace 
Society, and all the other Societies that have recently celebrated 
their birth-days in this metropolis, might disband to-morrow; 
and all the populations of the earth might sing, with a hope 
that has its hand upon the reality of its aspiration, 

“ There is a good time coming, 

Wait a little longer.” 


THE POWER OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH AS AN 

ORGANISATION. 

How feeble and ephemeral are all the benevolent associations 
of the present day, contrasted with the organisation of the 
Christian church! Human power and wisdom could not pro¬ 
duce a system which could compare with this institution for 
the perfection of social mechanism. Human nature itself, with 
its heart-ties, consanguinities, and home and household affini¬ 
ties, has not done it, and cannot do it. Contrast the family 
circle, or any circle of human society great or small, or any 
association however powerful in its organisation, with the 
church, and it will seem like the circle which the falling pebble 
sets in motion across the quiet pool, compared with the un¬ 
changing and everlasting harmonies of nature. The family— 



POWER OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 


43 


first and oldest of human societies, the kernel whence they 
germinate—is subject to mortality, and to the transitions and 
vicissitudes of individual life. The little community grouped 
aromid one parent-centre, and cemented by the closest relation¬ 
ships of nature, and by its liveliest affections and sympathies, 
is no sooner formed than it begins to dissolve; to widen out 
into the sea of common life, like the circle-ripple caused by a 
pebble’s fall, and to merge with the indiscriminate generations 
of mankind. Even in the first years of its consanguinity and 
communion, the family circle is not a permanent society. 
While yet in the dew of youth, son after son, daughter after 
daughter, bids adieu to the parental roof, and in another region 
of the country, or, perhaps, of the globe, becomes the parent of 
another family; which, in turn, widens into the world in like 
manner. It is a rare felicity in the experience of a family 
circle, when all its members, even to the second generation, are 
able to meet, once a year, at five consecutive anniversaries. Its 
social mechanism, however perfect and harmonious it may 
appear at first, is a transient arrangement; a school-master, it 
should be, and was designed to be, to prepare us for larger 
communions in this world, and unchanging and everlasting 
communions in the world to come. Compare this with the 
social economy of the Christian church. Come away to this 
quiet, rural village, and enter its gray-walled and ivy-netted 
sanctuary, which has braved the storms, the cold and heat of 
centuries. The music of its Sabbath bells, with silvery cadence, 
invited to its courts the unmemorialised generations, the frag¬ 
ments of families, that slumber in their last sleep beneath and 
around it. Look at the congregation here assembled. As it 
was in the beginning, and is now, it ever shall be, in the first 
attributes of its life and fellowship. Here is a family circle 
whose Parent-Centre never changes; whose consanguinity 
never attenuates with time. Relatively, it is an immortal and 
immutable community. Its age, and summer manhood and 
womanhood and childhood never change. One hundred years 
ago they were the same as to-day. Now as then, and then as 


44 


POWER OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 


now, you see what others saw, persons in the evening, at the 
noon, and in the fresh morning of life, and in all its intervening 
hours. Thus it will be to the end of time. Then look at 
another phase and fact of its social economy. It is the Sabbath 
day; this is not an anniversary meeting of the members of a 
society, drawn together by the forced attraction of an unusual 
circumstance. It is the weekly reunion of this great family 
circle. If we may so say, one day in seven they spend here in 
committee of the whole on their duty and relations to God and 
man. All, from the youngest to the oldest, take part in this 
momentous consideration. 

Such is the social organisation of an individual Christian 
church. For permanence, and capacity of united sympathy 
and effort, it has no parallel in any human association. Then 
contemplate the fact, that in almost every village and parish in 
Christendom there is such a church; that one day in seven, 
hundreds of thousands of these unchanging and everlasting 
communions on both sides of the Atlantic, assemble in their 
houses of worship and fellowship, and professedly consecrate 
these Sabbath hours to the contemplation of what they owe to 
God and what they owe to man. How feeble and transient 
are all the benevolent associations of the age, compared with 
tills divine and mighty institution! What are their Liliputian 
activities compared with its immeasurable capacity! Let the 
Church array the force of its omnipotent organisation against 
war, slavery, intemperance and oppression, but for a year, and 
it would drive those capital evils from the world. Let it meet, 
on a dozen extra Sabbaths consecrated to humanity, and con¬ 
centrate its power upon these gigantic sins, and the earth’s 
suffering and depressed millions would rise up and call it 
blessed, in their jubilee and joy. And would it be inconsistent 
with its godlike mission to bring its irresistible organisation to 
a work like this ? 


THE FIRST LAW OF H ATTIRE 


We hear much about a first law of nature , to which a Christian 
may yield obedience in certain “ extreme cases.” In the or¬ 
dinary actions of life, and in most of the trying conditions 
through which he may be called to pass, it is unanimously 
admitted, that he should be led by the spirit of Christ, or obey 
the first law of that nature which is created in him by the 
regenerating influence of that spirit; and which law is love. Men 
have been found in every age ready to obey this first law of the 
divine nature,—of the new man in Christ Jesus, in the ex- 
tremest cases of trial, danger, and assault to which human 
beings could be exposed. The first martyr, Stephen, like his 
Divine Master, acted out the great vital instinct of this nature, 
when he forgave and prayed for his murderers. His love¬ 
breathing prayer for them was not a forced expression of good 
will. It cost him no agonizing struggle with the old man 
within him. The old man was dumb and dead, with all its 
laws, its instincts, its lusts, and passions. The new man, the 
new nature, was uppermost, was all, in him, at that moment, 
and its great attribute, and instinct, and law,— love, beamed 
forth in one sublime expression and utterance, which made his 
face like unto an angel’s, and brought his crucified Master’s 
prayer to his lips: “ Father, forgive them!” The nature , then, 
whose first law is referred to by those who insist upon the 
right of killing a fellow-man in self-defence, is the lowest con¬ 
dition of the “ old man;” or human nature not only in an 
unregenerated state, but reduced to an equality with the nature 
of brute beasts. And, indeed, this first law of nature is often 
regarded as paramount to the first law of grace, because it is 
equally the first law of the bestial nature! We often hear 
professedly Christian people refer to the operation of this law 
among beasts of prey, for an evidence of its divine sanction and 



46 


THE FIRST LAW OF NATURE. 


origin. Persons often point to tlie talons, and claws, and teeth 
of carnivorous birds and beasts, as the weapons furnished them 
for self-defence, and for maintaining the first law of their 
nature. This law, then, is not claimed to be any thing more 
than an instinct , either in man, bird, or beast. It must then be 
as virtuous, as rational, in the beast as in the man. The nature 
of which it is said to be the first law, must be morally the same 
in man and beast. Then there is not an attribute of religion 
or reason in either. They not only belong to the old man with 
its deeds, but to the brute beast with its deeds, impulses, and 
lusts. This “ first law ” is as much opposed to the first law of 
grace, or of Christ’s nature, as that divine nature is opposed to 
the nature of brute beasts. The spirit of Christ can no more be 
said to inspire or sanction this “ first law,” than it can be said 
to inspire the lowest instinct of the brute beast. The instinct, 
then, that impels a man into a deadly or physical force struggle 
with an armed assailant, who springs upon him in an unex¬ 
pected moment, is a mere bestial instinct; it is not an inspira¬ 
tion, or suggestion of religion or reason. Nay, more; if self- 
preservation be his first duty, as some maintain, then he 
violates this duty by yielding to that instinct which has been 
denominated the first law' of nature. Let us look at the case in 
this light for a moment. And we will consider the exigencies 
of one of the “ extreme cases” which are so often brought 
forward as “ posers ” to the peace principle. 

The good man of yonder house is aroused from the deep 
slumbers of the night by the glare of a light, or the noise of a 
footstep near his bed. The first object that arrests his sight is 
a ruffian bending over his bed, with a long sharp knife pointed 
at his breast, or a loaded pistol at his head, and before he can 
think twice, the low hoarse summons comes—“ Your money or 
your life! ” The animal instinct, or the first law of nature, to 
w T hich w T e have referred, would impel him instantaneously into 
a deadly struggle with the hardened ruffian, for self-preserva¬ 
tion. But let reason have the play of six consecutive thoughts, 
and it wnuld tell him that such a struggle would be a reckless 
violation of the rational law and duty of self-preservation. 
Reason itself would do this, even were religion silent at such a 
crisis. It would set before him the conditions and liabilities 
of the struggle, somewdiat after this fashion “ My money or 


THE FIRST LAW OF NATURE. 


47 


my life?” Then he does not want my life? His uplifted 
dagger has not been sharpened for revenge; if it were, he 
would not ask for money. No; he owes me no deadly grudge 
for any injury I have done to his person, property, or reputa¬ 
tion. He does not want my life; he says he does not; nor the 
life of my wife or children. He merely wants my money. 
Then my life and theirs, my dearest earthly treasure, are safe, 
if I do not peril them by a struggle to retain my gold. If 
self-preservation, then, be the first law of reason as well as 
nature, it should be my duty to risk my gold for it sooner than 
my life. But shall I merely retain my life and that of my 
wife and children, if I lie passive in the robber’s hands? 
“ My money or my life ? ” Then he will not run off with my 
house ? No; he will not take even the bed from under me, 
nor the heavy articles of furniture. He has not come with a 
two-horse waggon, or a railway car, to fill with the plunder of 
my premises. He will leave me all the necessaries and most 
of the comforts of life—my house, lands, barns, gram, sheep, 
oxen, and swine, and other materials of wealth and comfort. 
“ My money or my life ? ” That means, what money I have on 
hand; not what I have in the bank or in the stocks. He 
wants merely to empty all the loose change I may have in my 
pockets or drawers into his, and then be off with a load which 
shall not weigh him down in his flight. Then give him the 
money and let him go, says reason; for a struggle may cost you 
both that and your life. For, consider the chances against you 
if you enter upon the desperate conflict. If you were to meet 
the ruffian by appointment, in full day-light, and fully armed, 
and, for self-preservation, submit your life to the hazard of a 
regular duel, you would incur a fearful peril. But what would 
this be to the one which you would encounter now, should you 
attempt to take his life, or to disarm him, whilst he stands 
bending over you with his dagger gleaming within an inch of 
your bosom, or his loaded pistol pressed against your head, 
watching the first motion of your hand or eye that indicates 
resistance? See you not that there are ninety-nine chances 
out of a hundred that he would kill you, should you adventure 
upon the struggle against such fearful odds! The duty of self- 
preservation demands that you should not expose your life and 
that of your family to such almost certain destruction, merely 


48 


THE FIRST LAW OF NATURE. 


for the sake of retaining your money, which must be equally 
endangered by the insane conflict. 

Such would be the arguments of mere reason, should its dic¬ 
tates be allowed to over-rule the instantaneous impulses of 
instinct in this “ extreme case.” But let us ask the ad¬ 
vice of religion, and see what the sublime instincts of the 
divine nature, or the spirit of Christ, in the good man’s heart, 
would suggest for his consideration at such a moment. The 
religion of Jesus would commence where reason left off, and its 
great arguments of love would tower heavenward to their 
divine author and finisher. “ My money or my life ? ” Who 
makes this demand? Ah! a poor wretched sinner, sliding 
and stumbling toward the slippery precipice of perdition, with 
the impetus of this new sin in his heart. Father, forgive him! 
he knows not what he does! Father, save him! pluck him 
even from the brink of ruin! he knows not whither he goes! 
My money or my life! Why, poor man, thou dead in tres¬ 
passes and sins, my life is hidden in Christ; and whilst he 
lives, I live in him. My life! neither principalities, nor 
powers, nor things present or to come, nor height, nor depth, 
nor any other creature, can take away my life—it is immortal. 
“ My money or my life ? ” Poor brother man! Thinkest thou 
I would tempt thee to take upon thy soul the red crime of 
blood, to add to the great crimson sins that are dragging it 
down to ruin; or that I would seek to send it, reeking with 
all its flagrant iniquities, to the bar of God, to be banished 
thence to utter darkness and despair ? “ My money ! ” Why, 

poor, unfortunate man! I would not shorten thy probation by 
an hour, or abridge one hope of mercy to thy soul, to gain the 
wealth of the world. My money! take it—take it as a gift of 
pity ; and may God forgive, as I do, the crime that blossomed 
in thy heart to this thought and deed. 

Such would be the language of religion and reason in “ the 
extreme case” we have described. We leave it to every candid 
mind to decide, whether the precepts of that language are not 
paramount to the instantaneous impulses of that animal instinct 
which has been dignified with the appellation of “ thefrst law 
of nature .” 


INHUMANITY OF WAR. 


Contrast the arbitrament of the sword with the spirit and 
dictates of humanity, and you have an incongruity as insane 
and wicked as those we have contemplated. In the progress 
of civilization and Christianity, a spirit of benevolence has 
been infused into all the administrations of justice. The penal 
systems of all Christian countries have been transformed by 
the best qualities of mercy. But war has lost scarcely a fea¬ 
ture of its horrid inhumanity. It is to-day the same tempest 
of fury and revenge that it was in the barbarous ages. 
Science, which has softened with its civilization all other 
svstems, has added torments and ferocious barbarities to war. 
Go to all the recent theatres of human butchery, whether they 
lie smoking on the plains of Hungary, or Algiers, or China, 
or Mexico, and you will read in their records of blood the 
evidence of this fact. Ask any general of the age, who has 
organised or witnessed these horrid melees, and he will tell you 
that no humane influences can live in the fiery atmosphere of 
the battle-field. When Sir Harry Smith, who was called the 
hero of the Sikh war in India, returned to England, with his 
military honours blushing upon him, and was feted by his 
fellow' officers in the British army, he said to them, in a 
response to a toast in honour of his exploits: “ Gentlemen, ours 
is a damnable profession ! ” The truth of this statement may 
be clearly established by the evidence of every battle-field, it 

D 



50 


INHUMANITY OF WAR. 


matters not under what national colours the awful scenes are 
enacted. A lieutenant of the British army, describing a scene 
that transpired at a battle with the Chinese at Ning-po, says: 

“At this juncture Capt. Moore’s howitzer came up; and 
being run to the front, opened upon the living wall before 
them with case-shot, at a distance not exceeding twenty to 
thirty yards. The effect was terrific; for the street w r as per¬ 
fectly straight, and the enemy’s rear, not aware of the miser¬ 
able fate which was being dealt out to their comrades in front, 
continued to press the mass forward, so as to force fresh 
victims upon the mound of dead and dying which already 
barricaded the street. The head of the column fell literally 

V 

‘ like the mower’s swath at the close of day;’ and the howitzer 
only discontinued its fire from the impossibility of directing its 
shot upon a living foe, clear of the writhing and shrieking 
hecatomb which it had already piled up. It had however 
been fired only three times, and the destruction would have 
been far greater had not the short distance prevented the 
grape-shot from spreading.” 

The same officer thus describes one of the after-scenes of a 
battle with the Chinese. “ In one of the houses, the bodies of 
seven dead and dying persons were found in the room, forming 
a group, which for loathsome horror was perhaps unequalled. 
The house was evidently the abode of a man of some rank and 
consideration; and the delicate forms and features of the 
sufferers denoted them as belonging to the higher order of 
Tartars. On the floor, essaying in vain to put food with a 
spoon into the mouths of two young children extended on a 
mattrass, and writhing in the agonies of death, caused by the 
dislocation of their spines, sat a decrepid man, weeping bit¬ 
terly, as he listened to the piteous moans and convulsive 
breathings of the poor infants, and looked upon the ghastly 
relics of mortality around him. On a bed near the dying 
children, lay the body of a beautiful young woman, her limbs 
and apparel arranged as if in sleep. She was cold, and had 
long been dead. One arm clasped her neck, over which a silk 


INHUMANITY OF WAR. 


51 


scarf was thrown, to conceal the gash in her throat which had 
destroyed her life. Near her lay the corpse of a woman some¬ 
what more advanced in years, stretched on a silk coverlet, her 
features distorted and her eyes open and fixed, as if she had 
died by poison or strangulation. A dead child, stabbed through 
the neck, lay near her; and in the narrow verandah adjoining 
the room, were the corpses of two more women, suspended 
from the rafters by twisted cloths wound around their necks. 
They were both young—one quite a girl, and her features, in 
spite of the hideous distortion produced by the mode of her 
death, retained traces of their original beauty.” 

Turn from this to any other battle-field, whatever region of 
the earth it reddens with human blood, and you will witness 
the same unmitigated outrages upon humanity. Whose heart 
can endure the contemplation of that horrid transaction in 
Africa, when the French roasted alive, in the cave of Dahra, 
the Arab families that had fled down into its sides to escape 
from the exterminating sword ? Who can contemplate, with¬ 
out feeling his soul sicken within him, some of the passages in 
the history of the late Mexican war ? Let the most hardened 
American soldier that took part in the bombardment of Vera' 
Cruz, tell us what kind of music fell on his ears, when the 
American commander ordered the cannon and mortars to be 
opened upon the defenceless part of the city—upon the habi¬ 
tations of women and children, that their shrieks of agony, 
and the sight of infants blown to quivering atoms, might 
compel the armed men of the castle to surrender their strong¬ 
hold. An American soldier has described one of these scenes, 
and the feelings with which he witnessed it. Says he: “ While 
I was stationed with our left wing in one of the forts, on the 
evening of the 21st, I saw a Mexican woman busily engaged 
in carrying bread and water to the wounded of both armies. I 
saw this ministering angel raise the head of a wounded man, 
give him water and food, and then carefully bind up his 
ghastly wound with a handkerchief which she took from her 
own head. After having exhausted her supplies, she went 

D 2 


52 


INHUMANITY OF WAR. 


back to her house to get more bread and water for others. As 
she was returning on her mission of mercy, to comfort other 
wounded persons, I heard the report of a gun, and saw the 
poor innocent creature fall dead! I think it was an accidental 
shot that struck her; I would not be willing to believe other¬ 
wise. It made me sick at heart, and turning from the scene, 
I involuntarily raised my eyes towards heaven, and thought, 
Great God ! and is this war! Passing the spot next day, I 
saw her body still hung there, with the bread by her side, and 
the broken gourd, with a few drops of water in it—emblems 
of her errand. We buried her, and while we were digging 
her grave, cannon-balls flew around us like hail.” 

Yes; this is war, with its malignant attributes all un¬ 
changed ; this is war, with its inherent and inseparable bar¬ 
barities, under the noontide light of civilization ; war, with its 
murderous train of inhumanities, unsoftened by one quality of 
mercv. 

“ No Political Change is worth a single crime, or, above 
all, a single drop of blood,” says O’Connell. That will be a 
golden age for humanity, which shall see this sublime principle 
the foundation-stone and top-stone, the crown and glory, of 
every political edifice which shall be reared on the ruins of 
despotic institutions. No political change can improve the con¬ 
dition of a people, unless it promote a moral end. No moral 
end can be attained by demoralizing means. Moral means are 
the constituent elements of the moral end already attained, 
“ the substance of things hoped for.” They are always and 
everywhere to true freedom what repentance and faith are to 
salvation. And any combination of despotic, physical force, in 
armies or navies, might as well seek to intercept the communi¬ 
cation of divine grace to the heart of the penitent and believing 
sinner, so as to intercept the gift of freedom to that people who 
commence working it out in the “ fear and trembling” of moral 
means. 



THE COURAGE AND CONQUESTS OF PEACE. 


“ What! ” exclaims Sergeant Pipeclay; “ what! is the Chris¬ 
tian to be a mean, cowardly poltroon, and let his enemies tread 
him under their feet, as a worm ?” Stay, Mr. Pipeclay;—who 
said anything about the soldier of the Cross being trodden 
under foot by his enemies P or of his being a coward, or anything 
of that nature ? Did his Captain say any such thing ? No ; 
nothing like it. He orders him into the breach of all the evils 
of this world ; to front, unblenched, powers and principalities ; 
nor can he surrender or retreat at discretion, like you. He is 
not only exhorted, but commanded, to overcome evil and ene¬ 
mies. Mark that, Sergeant Pipeclay! Mark that! The Christian 
soldier is not only to overcome his enemy, but to overcome the 
evil in that enemy’s heart. You may run your murdering 
bayonet through an enemy’s heart, but you can no more over¬ 
come the evil in it, with such a tool, than you can shoot a sin 
stone-dead by firing into eternity. That, sergeant, is a 
material difference between you. The Christian soldier can 
run his spirit-sword through an enemy’s heart, and slay its 
enmity, and leave him living with a life he never lived before. 
—Do you know anything of English grammar ? Very well. 
Then, sir, Love is the great verb active and transitive of Omni¬ 
potence, and in it are conjugated all the benevolent activities 
and dispositions that possess any overcoming power over evil 



54 


THE COURAGE AND CONQUESTS OF PEACE. 


in this world. You, and all your scarlet-coloured fraternity 
have stumbled in the syntax of these great principles. You, 
and the Governments that own you, have always stuck in the 
error, that Love w r as a mere passive verb , that whatever power 
it possessed could not be made to take effect upon any other 
person than the one that exercised it, much less upon an 
enemy. Now, sir, you recollect very well how you tried to 
persuade William Penn that Love was a mere passive verb. 
Don’t deny it; for it is a matter of history. When he and 
his followers were about to cross the Atlantic, to settle among 
the painted savages of North America, you asked him how he 
was to overcome such enemies, or to defend his colony against 
their attacks, without soldiers. And when the good man, in 
the great faith of his heart, replied, that he was going to trust 
to the power of love or law of kindness, you curled up your 
lips scornfully, and exclaimed, “ The law of fiddlesticks ! ” And 
this was the w T ay you ran on :—“ It is all very well, Mr. Penn; 
it is all very well for you to talk about trusting to love and its 
kindly dispositions and exercises. Such principles will do in 
the Millennium; but, trust me, they will not do in North 
America. If everybody practised such principles, then it would 
be safe and right for you to do it; but how can you venture to 
do it first! Love and kindness, indeed! and you are going, 
like lambs among wolves, to trust to such a defence !! Quaint 
man, think of these terrible Indians! think how their savage 
natures have been infuriated by long wars with the pale-faces 
—or your countrymen, who trusted to the ‘ long-knife ,’ rather 
than to your law of kindness, as you call it. Think how these 
merciless monsters of the forest are burning with a ravenous 
spirit of revenge, because the English colonists have killed a 
few of their squaws, and roasted some of their babies in the 
fire of their wigwams, whilst driving them out of the land! 
And will you and your weak men and women go amongst 
such inhuman savages, at such a time, with your law of love 
and kindness ? Infatuated, but well-meaning man ! your law 
of love would be an amiable hallucination amongst such crea- 


THE COURAGE AND CONQUESTS OF PEACE. 


00 


tures, even in their best mood; but now it would be madness 
to trust a hair of your heads to its protection.” 

Such, Sergeant Pipeclay, was the substance of your expostu¬ 
lation with William Penn, as that good man was embarking 
for North America, without any soldiers to protect him. You 
well know the result of his experiment. Every child in 
England or America who can read, knows it. You see, then, 
the stone against which you and your masters are stumbling. 
You deny the transitive power of love,—the overcoming power 
of good. You insist that a man may live and walk the very 
impersonation of these qualities, without affecting the disposi¬ 
tion or deportment of his nearest neighbours towards him. 
Then you go on to say, that if England should be transformed 
into a national embodiment of all the dispositions and activi¬ 
ties of loving-kindness towards France, the moral power of 
such a character would not be transitive —would not necessarily 
affect the disposition or deportment of France towards England. 
You own hesitatingly that the power of goodness and love, in 
the case of William Penn and the Indians, was transitive; that 
it did take immediate and marvellous effect upon the most 
unsusceptible party that could be brought within its influence. 
But there you stick. You will not own that this power—the 
only one that God has given to men or nations, by which they 
may overcome then’ respective enemies—would produce a like 
effect, if applied to the intercourse of the two most civilised 
nations of the earth. Or, in other terms, you insist that 
England might make herself the best friend that France has 
in the world, and that France might still remain her “ natural 
enemy,” unchanged, unaffected by the transformation of her 
neighbour. 


AN EXAMPLE FOR PARENTS. 

We are acquainted with a truly Christian father in Hart¬ 
ford, Connecticut, who was accustomed to adopt this method 
of withdrawing his children from the seductive demoralisation 



6(i 


AN EXAMPLE FOR PARENTS. 


of military masters and trainings. On the morning of the 
appointed day, before the parti-coloured harlequins of the 
military parade had assembled, or the sound of the piercing 
fife and the kennel of kettle and bass drums had broken the 
quiet of common life, he took his two young boys and drove 
into the country, to feast their eyes and ears with all that 
nature had to charm in its morning loveliness. He spent the 
day in this manner, and returned in the evening with his 
delighted boys, whose dreams during the night were filled 
with the music of the birds, or the dim visions of beautiful 
landscapes, or of the great beech by the brook side, where 
they ate their dinner, and fed the gambolling fishes of the 
stream with the crumbs from their basket. Not the sheen of 
a single bayonet, nor sound of the drum or fife, nor the sight 
of any of the human machinery of murder, or anything to 
stir a thought of war or strife, was permitted to cross the path 
of these two boys, from the rising to the setting of the sun 
on “ a training day,” while they remained under the paternal 
roof. Such days of military show were only associated with 
family trysting times away in the country. Where would 
war find its agents and victims, if every Christian father 
imitated this example ?—Would the world need to wait longer 
than the next generation for the reign of universal peace, if 
the children of Christian parents were thus educated from 
their early childhood ? 




THE PIONEERS OE PEACE. 


AY e are now on the eve, as it were, of that great and august 
demonstration to which the friends of peace, on both sides of 
the Atlantic have been looking forward with such lively 
anticipations during the last six months. “Peace has her 
victories no less than war; ” and we have recently contem¬ 
plated two of her great days of progress. A greater day, we 
believe is before us. AVe are strong in hope and faith that 
the Paris Congress in August will add another and more 
illustrious victory to the series which peace has won for 
humanity in these latter years. If the result of the approach¬ 
ing demonstration shall realise our expectations, those who 
have laboured in the cause during the day of its small things 
may thank God, and take courage to believe that its final 
triumph is close at hand, and that they may live to join in 
the general jubilee which shall hail its advent. As the 
horizon of the new era, predicted by holy men of old, grows 
brighter and brighter with the young light of its morning 
sun, we cannot suppress the wish that Worcester and Ladd, 
and other apostles of peace, now slumbering in their graves, 
might have been permitted to see with their eyes what we now 
see with ours, the tangible and expanding realities of their 
faith. But such a wish would be human to the last degree, 
and breathe no affinity to the thought of God, in regard to 
the faith which He inspires in the human heart, or to the 
longest life of its loving activities. “ The substance of things 
hoped for ” is not telescopic phenomena revealed to the sharp- 
sighted vision of the human eye, nor to the eye of faith is it 
always tangible , though a clearly developed and undoubted 
certainty. Faith is the great activity whicli sees its field of 



m 


THE PIONEERS OF PEACE. 


labour through the speculum of the soul’s immeasurable im¬ 
mortality, and forthwith begins -working by love, and co¬ 
working with God, in enterprises of beneficence which shall 
reach their consummation in distant generations. Such was 
the faith of Worcester, Ladd, and those w T ho have ceased from 
their labours in the cause of peace; a faith which would have 
lost much of its merit and lustre, had they been permitted to 
know that they should live to see what our eyes now behold. 
For the faith that works by love, works for the future, without 
the stimulus of present reward; and such was theirs. The 
faith that works by love, is content to sow, and see from afar 
the golden sheaves which other generations shall reap; and 
such was theirs. But, in their brightest hours of hope, little 
could they have deemed that the harvest was so near. Why 
it is but little more than twenty years ago that William Ladd 
thought it a little victory in the cause, when a religious news¬ 
paper in America consented to insert the notice of a small 
upper-room gathering of the friends of peace as a paid adver¬ 
tisement. It was not our privilege to see the face of that 
great-hearted pioneer in the cause of peace, but we well 
recollect following the track of his apostleship through the 
western part of the State of New York, a year or two after he 
had rested from his labours of love on earth. In every town 
he visited he left the memory of the blessed in the hearts of 
those who looked upon him, or listened to his words. Every¬ 
where on his route we heard people speak of his earnest faith 
which worked his life away by love. It was the last mis¬ 
sionary tom- he made; his strength waxed weaker and 
weaker; his faith, hope, and love stronger and stronger; 
and when, towards the close of the course, his limbs trembled 
with weakness, and he could no longer stand upon his feet 
throughout his discourse, then he would kneel down in the 
pulpit, and, in this affecting position, pom* out his great 
gospel thoughts of peace and brotherhood upon the still 
assembly, with his face shining upon them, with his heart at 
the full of Heaven’s light and love ! Good man! his faith was 


THE PIONEERS OF PEACE. 


59 


all the more illustrious and pure, in that he did not expect to 
reap himself, the harvest of his twilight sowing ; but somebody 
would gather the golden sheaves in the distant years to come; 
somebody would garner in the substance, the reality of his 
hopes; somebody would see at its noon the day whose first 
faint ray he caught with his eager eye flickering up the 
horizon of humanity; and that was enough for him. Good 
man ! the day of small things is the day of great men; still we 
could have wished, without wishing it as a reward of his 
labours, that he had been permitted to see some of these latter 
days of peace; that he could have been with us at Brussels 
last year ; that, with his heart full of the fresh memory of his 
two little upper-room meetings in America, he could have sat 
with us in the council chamber, and around the council table 
of the Prime Minister of Belgium, surrounded by the coun¬ 
cillors and conductors of the nation, meeting, day after day, to 
deliberate upon the most efficient measures for ushering in the 
reign of universal peace. We wish he could have been there, 
and at the opening and close of the first continental Peace 
Congress, hard upon the field of Waterloo ; that he could have 
been with us at the farewell soiree after that grand demon¬ 
stration, and have drunk in with us the joy of that hour of 
fraternal fellowship, with hearts beating with sympathies 
which eyes, in the fault of a common speech, tried to express. 
We 'wish he could have been with us at these precious 
moments; for he would have been as meek, under it all, as 
when he preached the evangel of peace on his knees, on the 
last stage of his journey to heaven. But, much more might 
we wish that he w T ere at the head of the delegation from 
America, now crossing the Atlantic, to take part in the great 
Peace Congress at Paris. Not for his reward, but for an 
illustrated lesson to the distinguished men of little faith and 
great intellect, who affect to be the statesmen of the day, and 
to all doubter^ and careful persons, who ridicule “ the dreams 
of good men,” w r ould we wdsh that William Ladd were alive 
to look upon the World’s Peace Parliament, about to assemble 


THE PIONEERS OF PEACE. 


60 

in the metropolis of France, numbering, perhaps, a thousand 
members, representing all the nations of the civilised world ’ 
that he were permitted to lead into the assembly the American 
delegation, and introduce them as the offspring of his ideas, as 
the contingent of his country to the hosts of peace; that 
Lamartine and Cobden, and others of their genius and 
aspirations, might look upon him in his grey hairs, and derive 
from his presence and experience new faith in the right and 
true. 

“ But blessed are the dead that die in the Lord,” for 
although they cease from their labours, “ their works do 
follow them; ” and William Ladd’s will not only follow, but 
precede his memory, to the great demonstration at Paris. 
His works will be there—what an immortality in two worlds! 
His little upper-room works will be there; and all the in¬ 
cipient and secret acts of his faith in the cause will be there; 
and the thoughts he uttered on his knees in the pulpit will be 
there, working still, and widening outward, through the 
stirred mind of that international assembly, the influence of 
his life of labour, in circles expanding to the compass of huma¬ 
nity. “ Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; ” and 
blessed are they with exceeding blessing to the living, for 
“ their works do follow them,” not into the grave, nor out of 
this afflicted world, but through it, even to the end, lightening 
the labours of the living, setting them up in existence with a 
goodly capital of faith and hope in the future; softening down 
the heat and burden of life and progress which would be too 
heavy for them were not good works immortal. “ Blessed are 
the dead” who have lived, laboured, and died in the Lord, 
for the heritage of good works wliich they have left behind 
them; of which neither principalities nor powers, nor any 
other creature, can dispossess the present and future genera¬ 
tions of mankind. The Brussels Congress was an evidence, 
and the grander demonstration at Paris will be another, that 
the works of good men follow them through all time as well 
as eternity. 


THE TIME AND TEMPLE OF PEACE. 


“ I agree with him (Mr. Cobden) in thinking that there could not, 
perhaps, have been a more appropriate time than the present for a 
demonstration of this nature, because we have now converted this 
country, I may say, into the Temple of Peace of the whole world.”— 
Lord Palmerston. 

There ! that will do pretty well. And who could have 
expected so much, so soon ! There is a scope and compass of 
significance, of the Crystal Palace order, in this sentence. 
Among the most auspicious and important of the coincidences 
that transpire in human affairs, is fitness of time and place to 
a great event or undertaking. “ Time,” said the eloquent Abbe 
Deguerry, in his august and powerful speech in the Peace 
Congress at Paris, “ Time is the Prime Minister of God’s Provi¬ 
dence !” And, surrounded and over-arched with the bright 
manifestations of Providence in these latter days; with all the 
signs that betoken, and the songs that are greeting, the dawn 
of a new era, there are thousands and tens of thousands of 
prudent, far-seeing persons, standing with their backs to the 
future, and warning the friends of Peace that time is not with 
them,—that the time has not come to favour their efforts and 
realise their aim. Look into the columns of the London Times, 
which arrogates to its unstable temporeity some of the minor 
attributes of Time. What has been its standing charge against 
the advocates of Peace, and their efforts P Why, that they were 
“ counting without their hostthat they were working in 
advance of time, and expecting and trying to realise the practi¬ 
cabilities of a distant age. And many sincere, Christian men 
have gone farther still, and said that our endeavours and expec¬ 
tations were outrunning the prophecies; that, in labouring 
to bring in an era of permanent and universal Peace, we were 
seeking to realise, prematurely, one of the prime conditions of 
the Millennium. It is a pleasant thing, and full of promise, 
therefore, that a statesman in Lord Palmerston’s position, acting 
as janitor to the Temple of Janus, so far as its custody is con- 


62 


THE TIME AND TEMPLE OF PEACE. 


signed to Great Britain, has turned his face to the future, and 
read its auguries, and the indications of the present, with such 
clear-sighted and liberal interpretation, that he has not hesitated 
to arise in his place, in the foremost Parliament of the world, 
and say that, in his opinion, “ there could not, perhaps, have 
been a more appropriate time than the present for a demon¬ 
stration of this nature.” What a full and unequivocal testimony 
this to the fitness of time! “ There could not, perhaps, have 

been a more appropriate time than the present for a demon¬ 
stration of this nature ! ” Of what nature ? Why, an effort 
to induce the British Government to adopt one of the measures 
advocated by the Peace Congress last year; to lead the leading 
nations of the earth, by simultaneous induction, into the path 
of mutual disarmament, and reciprocal confidence and amity. 
And is not the approaching Peace Congress “ a demonstration 
of this nature ? ” Come, now, all you hesitating and doubting, 
who profess to be as sincere friends of Peace, at heart, as its 
warmest advocates, let us reason together. You say, what you 
have said for years, that no one could be more honestly opposed 
to war than you, and that you intend to do something for its 
abolition, “ when the proper time comes. But ”—hold there!— 
no but , please. Are you really willing to lend a hand to this 
great work, even on the eve of its final consummation!—to 
thrust in your silver-mounted sickles, and reap the rich sheaves 
of a harvest which others, in patient faith, sowed, almost in tears, 
in the midst of the sneers and jeering obloquy of the world P 
Are you willing to come in, even at the hour of triumph, and 
share the brilliant and bloodless spoils of the great victory of 
Peace ?—to say and sing with the advocates you have contemned, 
“ God hath gotten us this victory. He hath established the 
work of our hands, and given us the desire of our hearts over 
the great destroyer of mankind! ” After having stoutly abjured 
all sympathy or association with these premature enthusiasts, 
in their efforts to banish war from the earth, are you willing 
to we yourselves with them, as they are bringing into the harbour 
of humanity the Golden Fleece, for whose tressed blessings they 
struggled, for years, with tempest and flood ? Then listen to 
Lord Palmerston. Does he not say to you, as plainly as 
language can speak, that “ there could not, perhaps, be a time 


THE TIME AND TEMPLE OF PEACE. 


63 


more appropriate than the present,” for you to participate in 
“ a demonstration of this nature ?” for you to attend the Peace 
Congress, and take an honest and active part in its proceed¬ 
ings ; to identify your sympathies and convictions with the 
spirit, principles, and objects which it would illustrate, teach 
and attain ? Can you wish better or safer authority than this 
clear, emphatic testimony of the Minister of Foreign Affairs to 
the fitness of the present time for your full and sincere adhesion 
to the cause of Peace ? 

So much for the felicitous appropriateness of the present for 
“ a demonstration of this nature.” Nothing could equal the 
fitness of time, save the peculiar adaptation of place , for this 
demonstration. And the last feature of this happy harmony is 
portrayed by the Noble Lord, in language more elysian than 
even the very sanguine and poetical of the friends of Peace 
' are wont to employ, in describing the reality of their aspirations. 
Let us listen to him again. The reason why the present is 
such an appropriate time “ for a demonstration of this nature,” 
he says, is “ because we have now converted this country, I 
may say, into the Temple of Peace of the whole world.” 
There now! what do you think of that ? How hampered and 
halting are the best conceptions which the prosy and plodding 
workers in the cause could form of the fitness of place for the 
coming Peace Congress, compared with this brilliant illustration 
of the British Minister! It mirrors the reality, as through the 
Crystal Palace itself. Full of clustering images of blessedness 
and beauty as is this comprehensive and splendid figure, who 
can say that he has invested the vista and significance of the 
facts spread out before him with a colouring, compass, or a 
meaning which they do not deserve P Yes, Lord Palmerston ! 
the sober, unpoetical judgment of the world shall not check 
the exuberance of your faith, nor limit its expression, though 
expanding and warming into the poetry of enthusiasm. You 
may say, that “ we have now converted this country into the 
Temple of Peace of the whole world.” For is not this true, in 
almost every sense and direction ? As a place of mere congre¬ 
gation and social fellowship, is not the Crystal Palace as much 
a centre and source of attraction to all the nations of the earth, 
as Solomon’s Temple was to the Twelve Tribes of Israel ? Do 


64 


THE TIME AND TEMPLE OF PEACE. 


not the people of all lands and languages hie and home to it, as 
the doves of Judea did of yore to their windows in that Temple . J 
I)o not they remain as long together, at its shrine of Peace and 
Concord, as did the Jewish worshippers that assembled beneath 
the arches of that hallowed edifice ? In this sense, then, Lord 
Palmerston may say, that this country has now been converted 
into a temple. But if it be a temple, what less or else can it 
be, than the Temple of Peace, universal and permanent ? At the 
inception and end of the work, was there any ambiguity or reser¬ 
vation in regard to its design and dedication P No; Peace was 
enthroned, like a living, speaking, and heavenly presence in the 
highest place in that temple, with an inauguration such as a 
world, with its potentates and peoples, could only offer in homage 
to her sceptre. It were an easy thing to construct some vast 
edifice, and surmount it with a cold master-piece of marble 
statuary, and call it Peace, or Freedom, or Plenty. But such is 
not the Crystal Palace; such is not the Temple of Peace into 
which this country has been converted, in the language of Lord 
Palmerston. It is a living temple, and not an Oriental monu¬ 
ment, crowned with dead, idolatrous sculpture, in honour and 
glory of Peace, like the Athenian image dedicated to “ The 
Unknown God.” Peace is in her Industrial Temple ; not in the 
cold personation of worshipped marble, but as a moving, 
speaking, animating presence; as a life, in the highest, widest, 
and warmest, condition of activity and inspiration. Peace is 
“at home” here; magnificent beyond the most gorgeous page¬ 
antry of earthly potentates, but not in state; not overawing; 
benignly “ at home ” to all her multifarious and multitudinous 
Court of Industries; blandly and blessingly “ at home ” to all 
the ingenious artists and hard-handed artisans of the world ; 
alike “ at home,” in the suavest benevolence of her countenance, 
to the sons of toil of every clime, kindred and colour, who have 
crowned her brow and hung her neck with the choicest jewel¬ 
lery of their genius; who, with labour patient and hopeful, 
have made the wildernesses of the world to blossom as the rose ; 
have dompted and domesticated the winds and lightning to 
message-birds of business and friendship ; bridged seas, linked 
continents, subdued elements, and co-worked with God in 
bringing back beauty to the earth, and unity to the scattered 


THE TIME AND TEMPLE OF PEACE. 


6 O 


families of His creation. Peace is “at home” with these, and 
these with her, not as the object of their worship, but of their 
love and mutual fellowship. 

Then there is another generous admission in the language of 
Lord Palmerston, in his recent speech on Mr. Cobden’s Peace 
motion. He says: “ We have now, I may say, converted this 
country into the Temple of Peace of the whole world.” It is 
something hopeful when a statesman in his position, speaking 
for a great Government, or for himself, is disposed to say we, 
with the workers in a great cause. Nothing is more patent to 
the world, in connexion with this Great Exhibition, than the 
fact, that it did not originate in the British Parliament, but 
was an undertaking of individual enterprise. Neither was it 
a sudden and brilliant conception, bowled in among the events 
of the age, like an unpredicted comet. It came in its due time 
and order, in the right line of succession of great ideas. The 
still small voices that uttered thoughts of peace and human 
brotherhood among the people, whether they would hear or 
forbear; the men of faith, who stood up and took twenty years 
of the world’s ridicule for the sowing of these principles ; the 
harmless enthusiasts who persevered in the enunciation of these 
doctrines against satire keen and bitter;—these prepared the 
way, and hastened the coming of this event. The friendly and 
fraternal addresses from the towns of England to the towns of 
the United States and France; the international visits which 
succeeded; then the great Congresses of the friends of Peace, 
of different nations;—these have done their work in bringing 
in this grand consummation of the influences they set in mo¬ 
tion. The achievement is made to occupy time, as well as to 
include a vast range of co-operation, by the language of Lord 
Palmerston. “ We have now converted this country into a Tem¬ 
ple of Peace.” Now, after so long a time, after so many years 
of labour in changing the habits and disposition of the country, 

“ we have converted it into the Temple of Peace of the whole 
world.” Looking at the long educational process by which this 
change has been effected; tracing back the august demon¬ 
stration to the tributaries of public sentiment which produced 
it, we cannot think it is too much to regard the Peace Congress 
as the parent, and not the parasite of the Great Exhibition. 


66 


THE ADVENT AND ERA OF PEACE. 


THE ADVENT AND ERA OF PEACE. 

There seems to be a sentiment abroad, a latent thought, which 
is slowly permeating the mind of the most depressed classes of 
the people, going down into the lowest lanes of life, into the 
mines, fields, and factories—a thought that whispers its bright 
prophecies by night in the ear of dejected labour, and some¬ 
times gives even the slave a song in the burning hours of his 
unrequited toil—a simultaneous sentiment of popular faith, 
that 

“ There is a good time coming; 

Wait a little longer.” 

However vague and varying may be these spontaneous hopes 
of the people; however importunately they may press upon the 
unrevealed tilings of the future, there is, in almost every com¬ 
munity, an impression bearing the seal of Christian faith, that 
we are gradually and surely approaching one of the grand 
realities in the destiny of humanity, which were foreseen and 
predicted by the inspired seers of other ages. Blessed be our 
eyes that are permitted to contemplate that reality from the 
clearer perspective of these latter years; but blessed and thrice 
honoured of God were the eyes of those holy men, who were 
permitted to see it across a dark and surging sea of time. Per¬ 
haps we may not live to enter upon the full fruition of that 
reality; but the eyes that shall see it in its beauty, the lips 
that shall hail its glorious appearing, the hearts that shall 
embrace it in all the compass of its joy, will attest that it was 
not a fortuitous condition into which humanity stumbled in the 
felicitous explorations of its genius, but that it was a condition 
prepared for mankind before the foundations of the earth, and 
predicted by men who received from God the life and light of 
those principles whose power was to regenerate the world. 
However bright be our visions, however fertile and fervid be 
our conceptions of this coming day of better things for man¬ 
kind, our faith will not outrun that of the inspired prophets of 


THE ADVENT AND ERA OF PEACE. 


67 


old. They saw the same glorious day. Its life, light, joy, and 
peace were revealed to their eyes, and they grouped them 
together in living images, full of beauty. Whatever that day 
may bring to the human race, they who shall go up and possess 
its goodly realities, will confess that they were all embraced in 
the condition described by those holy men, “ When the wolf 
and the lamb shall lie down together; wdien nation shall not 
lift up sword against nation, neither learn war any more; when 
they shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears 
into pruning-hooks; when your officers shall be peace, and 
your exactors righteousness; and there shall be an abundance 
of peace so long as the sun or moon endureth.”—Here we have 
a full and glowing description of that new era whose dawning 
light seems even now to streak the horizon of humanity. The 
advent of that day is not a new-born illusion of modern fancy; 
it is not the dreamy speculation of a poetical imagination. It 
is a future reality, secured to the world by the unwavering 
verities of the Word of God. 

But we have not only the inspired prediction of this coming 
day, and the cheering tokens of its approach, but we have 
principles given us, full of life-giving immortality and power, 
which must make the advent of that day inevitable. And these 
principles are not the offspring of new-born theories; they are 
not the precarious dogmas of human opinion. They are prin¬ 
ciples old as eternity; they are the wisdom and power of God 
among men, for the pulling down of all the strongholds of 
War, Slavery, Oppression, Violence, and Wrong. “ If thine 
enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; love 
your enemies; resist not evil, but overcome evil with good; 
they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.” These, 
and the like of these, are principles of great antiquity. They 
have been spurned and ridiculed in all ages. They have 
been foolishness to the Greek, Jew, and Gentile, and a 
stumbling-block to thousands in Christian lands. Principalities 
and powers have warred against them, and sought to extermi¬ 
nate them from the earth; but they were mighty, immortal, 


68 


THE ADVENT AND ERA OF PEACE. 


and prevailed; and they will prevail, until all principalities 
and peoples shall how to their divinity and power. 

“ God hath made of one blood all nations of men, for to 
dwell on all the face of the earth,” is not a Greek apophthegm, 
though uttered in the midst of Athens. It is not a maxim of 
human wisdom, or a new-coined motto of modern democracy. 
It is a great, everlasting and capital verity of divine revelation, 
which shall outlive the existence and memory of all unfriendly 
nationalities. If, in that coming day promised to mankind, 
“ Holiness to the Lord ” shall be written even on the bells of 
their horses, may we not believe that “ God hath made of one 
blood all nations of men ” shall be written upon all the banners 
of the peoples, before which the bestial emblems of nationalities, 
that once led them forth to mutual slaughter, shall hang their 
heads for shame, if lifted in the air ? 

And the wheels of time, which are bringing in this glorious 
day, will yield to the progressive impulse of human faith and 
instrumentalities! Unlike the incoming of that morning which 
greets the rising sun of our material world, the dawn and 
noon-tide light of this new era may be hastened by those who 
will co-work with God and the power of his great gospel of 
love, for this blessed consummation. The infant heart, whose 
whispered prayer of faith brings down from heaven the gift of 
one new thought of good to man—that heart, in the tiny 
compass of its reflection, emits a ray of true millennial light. 



BROTHERHOOD. 


“ Coming events cast their shadows before them,” said one, 

with such truthfulness and felicity as to raise the observation 

•/ 

to the first rank of established axioms. According to this 
order of things, we have the shadow first, then the reality. 
But there are some events which have, and are to come, which 
deserve a better figure to illustrate their advent than shadows. 
There are obscurity and eclipse, and other sombre and uncer¬ 
tain conditions involved in that term. True, there cannot be 
a shadow 'without a substance; and, although the first may be 
elongated far beyond the sight of the latter, still we may rest 
assured that they are as inseparable as sunbeams and their 
source. But a sunbeam is not a shadow of the sun; and in 
that we have a vital difference between the two things. Even 
if the shadow were a daguerreotype likeness of the reality 
behind it, the relation and the simile would lack some impor¬ 
tant attributes of life and illustration. There is an essential 
difference between the warm, throbbing pulse, and the painted 
portrait, however like life be the latter. There is a difference, 
as great as this, between the faintest morning ray of the rising 
sun, and the shadow of a “ coming event;” for that ray is not 
the sun’s likeness, but its life—its very breath and pulsation. 
That ray has to do, as well as to seem; to warm, as well as to 
light the earth. So in the moral world —great thoughts are 
not the shadows of great acts, but the antecedent spirit of 



70 


BROTHERHOOD. 


those acts; they are not presentiments or premonitions, but 
the real vitalities of that which is to come. 

Every grand enterprise of philanthropy which has blessed 
the world, lived and moved, and had its being, perhaps for 
years, in “ a thought, in the one idea ” of one man. There 
were light and heat in that thought; for it was the morning 
ray of the sun of truth, rising slowly to the horizon of hu¬ 
manity ; and, like light, that thought permeated the minds of 
men until it became an act, then an enterprise, then a “ great 
fact,” in the parlance of the world. How precious, then, to 
mankind, are those thoughts of Divine inspiration and power, 
through which God works, in his own good will and pleasure, 
the salvation of man, and the well-being of human society! 
And a child, under that inspiration, may bring into the world 
one of these ideas, which shall stir whole nations, and change 
the condition of millions. 

The idea, that man cannot own property in man , or make him 
a chattel, has not fifty years of age and expansion. If we 
may say it reverently, the Virgin Mary of that idea was an 
obscure English woman, who was startled from her slumber, 
night after night, by its vivid revelations. It wrought in her 
mind for months, absorbing all her thoughts, and all the glow 
of her sympathies, and the vigour of her convictions. And its 
hour came, and she proclaimed it to the world with a heart- 
power that reached the consciences of statesmen, and stirred 
the nation to emotion. Look at that idea now ! See how the 
principalities and powers of the earth are bowing before it. 
See it sweeping over continents, and moving governments, and 
peoples, and the world’s indignation, against slavery. Who 
can look at its present power and progress, and doubt the 
advent of the day when slavery shall be banished from the 
earth, as an abomination, a curse, and a sin ? The mind and 
will of God are in that idea, and it must prevail. 

But there is another idea, 'which includes this, and all others 
which work for the well-being of mankind—an idea which has 
reached the first stage of its progress and power, and is now 


BROTHERHOOD. 


71 


beginning to permeate the minds of millions of every clime 
and colour. That idea is, the Fatherhood of God , and the 
brotherhood of men. It is a simple idea; but the mind and 
will of God are working manifestly and mightily in it. For 
years and years of benevolent thoughts and activities it worked 
without a name, in every enterprise of philanthropy. It glowed 
in the heart of the first missionary of the Gospel to heathen 
lands. It tuned the lips of Howard, Fry, and Allen, to accents 
of kindness, which fell upon the prisoner’s ear like words of 
grace from heaven. It inspired the thought and toned the 
voice that won the inebriate back from ruin, and softened to 
meekness the maniac’s maddened will. It has lived, breathed, 
and wrought in all the sweet and heavenly charities that have 
ministered to human suffering and sorrow. And now that 
idea has taken name and form, and is dwelling among men, 
as a new Divine manifestation. Brotherhood! — That is its 
Anglo-Saxon name; and it is becoming a household word 
among all the habitations of the Anglo-Saxon race. Brother¬ 
hood !—Ten years ago the term had hardly use or meaning; 
but now it is becoming the capital word of the age. It is 
finding its way into the vocabularies of all communities, 
orders, and professions. You can hardly walk an hour in the 
street 'without overhearing it repeated. You will find it fre¬ 
quently in the leaded columns of the London Times , and in the 
editorials of the most conservative journals of England and 
America. The pulpit has christened it to hallowed meaning, 
and you will hear it often in prayer and sermon. Statesmen 
and careful politicians, who shim “utopias” utter it with con¬ 
fidence in high places; and it sometimes finds a place in the 
cold, stiff language of diplomacy. Brotherhood !—in all the 
phases of its new meaning—it never refers to the relation of 
man to man as children of the same human father, but as 
children of the same God. That is the idea involved in this 
new epoch-word, though it may be seen only as through a 
glass, darkly. 

Talk of the recognition of the independence of this or that 


72 


BROTHERHOOD. 


nation, struggling to hew its way to freedom with weapons 
fitted only to the iron hand of despotism! What is it to 
freedom, justice, and humanity, compared with the recognition 
of a brother m every human being, of whatever country, colour, 
or condition ! Universal brotherhood—a brother in every man. 
Recognise that relation, and how, like the morning mist before 
the rising sun, would vanish the doubts and darkness with 
which human opinions and customs have sought to eclipse the 
holiest moralities of God’s great law of love ! What! a brother 
in every man ! Then, how could the question longer puzzle 
the will, whether it can be aught than a sin, of clearest mani¬ 
festation, to kill that brother on the field of battle, or on the 
hangman’s scaffold; to chattelise him to a slave, or to criminate 
his colour to the mark of Cain; to oppress him, or rob him of 
any of the rights which inhere to his relationship to God and 
man! 

Brotherhood !—That word is not the shadow, but the light 
of “ the good time coming.” It is souled with an idea which 
shall one day expand into a perpetual and universal condition. 
It is becoming the banner-word of the peoples of the earth. 
There is a gospel in it, which carries hope and gladness into 
the hearts of the toiling masses. It is penetrating through to 
the slave in his bonds, with a meaning which makes his bosom 
beat with new expectations. It is carrying its great idea into 
all the continents and islands of the Anglo-Saxon race, and 
into the languages of the other tribes of men. 

Brotherhood !—The man, woman, or child, that drops that 
word upon the community, or writes it legibly where it may 
be read, does something to make it a life and a condition 
among men. 


THE POWER OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


The full power revealed and prescribed in that simple and 
sublime precept of the Gospel, “ overcome evil with good ,” 
has never been tested by any people, population, or commu¬ 
nity, in subduing the evils and enemies that beset and oppressed 
them, either from •within or without. To put it into full ope¬ 
ration, requires a capacity of good-will, of forgiveness of in¬ 
juries, of abnegation of natural instincts, which the population 
of no town, or province, or state, has ever acquired. But, at 
long intervals, and a little more frequently of late, a case has 
occurred here and there, in which a considerable community 
has acquired the ability of sustaining for awhile the lowest, 
feeblest, manifestation of this power, or a condition of passive 
resistance to oppression, armed with a force which could in¬ 
stantly crush any violent opposition they might attempt to 
array against it. Within the last two or three years, several of 
these cases have transpired in different parts of the world. In 
one of these, a little English colony at the Cape of Good Hope, 
passively , but successfully, resisted the great Government of 
the British empire, backed with all its navies and armies, in 
its attempt to make the home of their small population a 
receptacle of criminals, crime, and convicts from England. 
Then, almost simultaneously with this successful experiment 
with the force of passive resistance, there conies the report of 
another, from the distant islands of the Pacific Ocean, tried 


E 



74 


THE POWER OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


under circumstances of more imminent peril and oppression, 
and crowned with more illustrious triumph. The weak little 
Government of the Sandwich Islands, in order to diminish the 
use and effect of intoxicating liquors among their people, im¬ 
posed a heavy tax upon French brandy and wine. This 
irritated the French, and they sent thither a great ship 
of war to compel the government to remove the tax; and 
the captain gave them but a few hours to comply with 
the demand. But they absolutely refused to obey. Then 
they must take the consequences, and these would be terrible. 
The lady of the French consul—good, kind, compassionate 
woman—went with her husband from house to house, and 
entreated the foreign residents to take refuge on board the 
French ship, for the island was to be blown up, or sunk, to 
punish the wicked government for taxing French brandy, and 
making drunkenness a dearer luxury to the people ! But not 
a single person accepted of the refuge. The government held 
fast to its resolution without wavering for a moment. The 
French commander landed with his marines in battle array. 
Men with lighted matches stood at the great cannons of the 
ship. The horn' of vengeance had come. Poor little people ! 
w'hat will become of you now ? What will you do to defend 
yourselves against this resistless force P Do ? do nothing but 
endure. “ The king,” says the report, “ gave peremptory orders 
to his people to oppose no resistance to the Frenchmen. The 
gallant commander, therefore, landed his marines and took pos¬ 
session of the fort, custom-house, and some other Government 
buildings, no resistance being offered. All was still and peaceful 
in the streets, business going on as usual. Here they remained 
for some days; when, finding that the government would not 
accede at all to their demands, though they offered to leave the 
whole question to an umpire, the chivalrous Frenchmen went 
to work to dismantle the fort, and destroyed everything wi thin 
its walls. After having finished this Yandal-like work, they 
marched off with flying colours.” How full of illustration is 
this case of passive resistance! The simple, quiet force of 


THE POWER OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


75 


endurance which the government opposed to the French, wet 
their powder, and turned their bayonets to straw. Against 
this unexpected force the marines were powerless. They had 
no arms to contend with such an enemy. All their weapons, 
and discipline, and bravery, were fitted only to overcome brute 
force; and of this they found none, except its shadow in the 
fort and its equipments; and -with great valour they fell upon 
this shadow, and mutilated it terribly, and then marched hack 
with flying colours! So far was this invasion of bayonet- 
power from inducing a settlement to the advantage of the 
French, that the government even refused their offer to submit 
the question to arbitration, or to put the law at any hazard of 
modification, in face of all the brute force that France could 
marshal against it. 

These are examples of the irresistible power of passive resist¬ 
ance, when opposed by a people to foreign enemies and oppres¬ 
sion. But almost simultaneously with these, we have examples 
of this kind of resistance when arrayed against domestic 
oppression, or the despotic acts of dynasties that have at their 
command vast military organisations, ready to do their will. 
The most striking of these is the case of Hesse Cassel.— 
Here, the force of resistance has been tested for a longer 
period, and by a larger population than ever have illustrated 
its virtue before. The result has not yet transpired, nor can 
we conclude what it will be. We can hardly believe that it 
mil be crowned with complete success; for we cannot believe 
that the Hessians will be able to endure unto the end which 
they seek. We fear they will lose their impregnable strength, 
by being seduced into a manifestation of brute force. But the 
teaching of their experiment, even up to this stage, will be in¬ 
valuable to the people and the cause of popular freedom every¬ 
where on the Continent of Europe. It has established the fact 
that despotism, backed by the mightiest armies, cannot serf or 
subdue a people or a population, or rob them of then- lights, or 
barricade their way to rational freedom, if they can only 
acquire the capacity of a passive resistance , which the most 

E 2 


76 


THE POWER OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


aggravated oppression can never weary out. Up to this horn*, 
the Hessians have manifested this capacity, and practised this 
virtue: and the bristling bayonets which virtually surrounded 
them have become as stubble. While they possess their souls 
in patience, and refrain from the slightest act of violence, the 
whole soldiery of the Continent will be powerless against 
them. How full of glorious illustration and consequence is 
this spectacle! The eyes of despotism, like those of beasts of 
prey, are glaring upon them from every side, watching to 
spring upon them at a single hound, the first moment that 
they venture from their stronghold of passive resistance! 
What a sublime sight in the moral world! It is said that the 
poor peasants, and the poorest day-labourers in Cassel have 
signed a pledge to abstain from intoxicating chinks, and that they 
are watching over each other with the keenest vigilance, lest, 
in an evil hour, some sudden act of oppression should make 
them mad, and they should fall horn the grace of patience, 
and peril their country’s all by a deed of violence! Contrast 
that discipline with the spirit and deeds of a brute-force revo¬ 
lution ! How the people rise, rise, rise to the highest stature of 
moral being, under such a process of self-education ! “ Better 

is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.” Yes; 
the Elector may take the city of Cassel, with 60,000 Austrian 
and Bavarian troops; hut they will be to him as mere shadows, 
so long as the Hessians shall be able to rule their spirits after 
this fashion. The cause of popular freedom, progress, and 
prosperity has an immense interest at stake in the issue of this 
grand experiment with a force which the God of the poor and 
the oppressed has given to them in his great Gospel of love:— 
“ I SAY UNTO YOU, RESIST NOT EVIL, BUT OVERCOME EVIL 
WITH GOOD.” 


THE DIGNITY OE PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


We have recently dwelt at some length upon the irresistible 
power of passive resistance , when opposed to oppression, either 
from home or from abroad, by any population or people, great 
or small. We contemplated its capacity as a force, which any 
community or country might employ successfully in repelling 
and disarming despotism, whatever amount of bayonet power 
it might have at its command. This was illustrated by the 
example of the little community at the Cape of Good Hope, in 
thwarting the attempt of the British Government to make their 
country a penal settlement; of the Sandwich islanders, in 
repelling the aggressions of the French; and of the people of 
Hesse Cassel, in resisting the despotism of a dynasty, threatening 
to trample their rights under the feet of foreign soldiery. But, 
it will be said, in these cases, the people “ made a virtue of 
necessity .” Passive resistance was all they could oppose to 
these acts of oppression. Very good. But, as it was effective 
to this end, would it have been less a virtue , if it had not been 
a necessity ? If the King of the Sandwich Islands had at his 
command a standing army of 100,000 men, and a Gibraltar fall 
of cannon, could he have more completely expelled, chastised, 
and humbled the French than he did, by putting them into the 
condition of pirates before the world, and by forcing them to 
fight the air, and then retreat to their ships from very shame 
at the result of their martial prowess ? We can see many lips 
curl at this proposition. What! stand by with 100,000 armed 



78 


THE DIGNITY OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


men, and see a regiment of foreign soldiers land, to compel the 
Government to abrogate its laws, without opposing that physical- 
force resistance organised at great expense for such an emer¬ 
gen^ ! Would not “ endurance cease to be a virtue ” at such a 
point ? Could passive resistance, friend Broadbrim, be compa¬ 
tible with a nation’s dignity in such a case P Neighbour Fire¬ 
lock, thou thinkest these to be hard questions, and hard to be 
answered by human nature. And so they are; but religion, 
and even reason, can do it easily. But from what Scriptures 
comes that precept, “ There is a point at which endurance ceases 
to be a virtue ? ” There is no divinity in the Scriptures from 
which that maxim is taken; they are human, in a very low 
manifestation of reason and experience. Christianity says, 
“ endure unto the end; ” not to the end of your patience, but 
to the end of ’wrong, evil, and oppression—to the goal, to the 
crown of your triumph and rej oicing. Now, neighbour Firelock, 
before w'e proceed to consider these hard questions, let us 
examine the maxim which thou hast quoted, as if it were from 
the New Testament:—“There is a point at which endurance 
ceases to be a virtue .” Then what does it become, when it 
ceases to be a virtue ?—a crime! Says the maxim, the endurance 
of wrong and oppression is really a virtue up to a certain point. 
From the starting, to this terminating point of patience, the 
greater the oppression, the more virtuous is its endurance. To 
this extent the virtue of patience is measured by the pressure 
of wrong which it sustains ; but when it reaches this point, and 
confronts a severer trial, it becomes criminal in it not to give 
way and relinquish the struggle, although it possesses the capa¬ 
city of enduring, unto the end, all the wrongs and outrages which 
oppression can oppose to its resistance. For the maxim speaks 
only of a contingency in which endurance ceases to be a virtue , 
not & possibility. Now, what would become of society and its 
moralities, if all the other virtues should follow the course 
prescribed to this P If men were to be taught, by maxims 
couched in a Bible tournure, that “ There is a point at which truths 
temperance, or honesty ceases to be a virtue /—that there are 


THE DIGNITY OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. TU 

trials and temptations to which it is virtuous to yield !—tests 
too severe for purity, probity, or any other grace, before which 
it is graceful to fall! ” Surely, the evidence of such a false 
maxim must he rejected from the consideration of the question. 
Let us, then, look at the case of the Sandwich Islands, in the 
light of national independence, dignity, and honour. 

The Government had enacted a law, for the good of the people, 
which diminished the use and sale of French brandy and wines. 
The French attempted to compel the Government, by violence, 
to repeal that law. It was a direct and aggravated attack upon 
the sovereignty of the Sandwich Island State. That attack 
was repelled and thwarted by the passive resistance of the 
Government and people. But that was the only resistance 
which they had in their power to oppose to their assailants, it 
is urged. Grant it; but was it not as effective as would have 
been the broadsides of fifty ships of the Hue, if such a fleet had 
been at the command of the King ? But, says another, passive 
resistance invites attack and insult, and repetition of outrage. 
Prove this, if you can, by any evidence drawn from history, or 
any argument from philosophy ; prove it by the result of this 
very experiment. See if the French venture again to compel 
this little Government, by force, to repeal or modify one of its 
laws to their commercial advantage. But, if the Sandwich 
islanders had possessed an army of 100,000 men, would passive 
resistance, in such a case, have been compatible with their 
national dignity, even if it had been more efficient and successful 
than the strongest array of brute force ? In this question 
comes the tug of the principle, in the minds of thousands, who 
can follow it to a certain length. The greatest dignity that a 
nation can acquire, is to be always in the right. Right is not 
only its highest dignity, but its moral power. This dignity 
and power combine to create in a nation’s heart an indomitable 
will to maintain them. Now, passive resistance puts in force 
all the energies of this will, and raises the smallest nation to 
the foremost rank among the great powers of the earth. It 
defends its territory, its rights, its honour, and dignity, by the 


80 


THE DIGNITY OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


sheer force of its will. It conquers and triumphs by its will. 
Did ever Alexander, Caesar, Buonaparte, or Nicholas more than 
this ? On the other hand, brute-force resistance weakens the 
will of a nation—dethrones it from its first place and power— 
subordinates it to precarious contingencies—throws it headlong 
among the veriest hap-hazards of the battle-field—in a word, 
compromises its dignity, by pitting it against the blindest 
chances of success. The Sandwich islanders repelled the attack 
upon their rights, by the mere force of their will. Compatible 
with their dignity ! Why, that will was the embodiment and 
energy of their dignity; and they not only maintained, but 
elevated it, by the passive resistance which they opposed to 
their assailants. The French retreated before that dignity— 
the quiet dignity of right. They, too, had a will, when they 
left their ship-of-war, and drew up their forces on the shore, 
for the attack; but they had no dignity to sustain it, nor force 
to carry it into execution. But they hoped to acquire both, 
before they had marched twenty yards. How ? from whom P 
From the Sandwich islanders themselves. They expected 
and intended to tempt the Government from its impregnable 
position of passive resistance; to descend from its dignity, 
or share it with them, by ordering them to be fired upon. 
The discharge of a single musket, on the part of the islanders, 
would have transferred the transaction to the ground of a 
regular contest, in which right and wrong would be in 
equilibrium; in which the former relinquishes all its moral 
advantage over the latter, and hazards its all upon the even 
chances of a die, the result of which cannot be affected by any 
moral discriminations between the contending parties. 

To conquer by the moral manifestation of the will, is to 
conquer like a God. To conquer by the manifestation of brute 
force, is to conquer like a beast. The dignity of passive resistance 
lies between these parallels. 


THE PATRIOTISM OE PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


We have considered the power and dignity of passive resist¬ 
ance, when opposed to assaults from without, or oppression 
from within. We have tried to show that necessity does not 
make it a virtue in any case; hut that its inherent virtue 
always makes it a necessity. We now proceed to demonstrate 
its patriotism. We deem it due to the principles and advocates 
of peace, to rebut the charge that is often brought against 
them, that they are “ the complacent allies of despotism—that 
they would stand by and see, without concern or remonstrance, 
communities, peoples, and nations manacled hand and foot, by 
tyrants; then- rights, liberties, hopes, and aspirations, trodden 
out of existence by the iron heel of oppression.” The imputa¬ 
tion of cowardice, unmanly imbecility, a crouching, abject 
spirit, is involved in this charge. “ What! would you have us 
lie down in the dust, and be trampled upon by these despotic 
powers and governments! Would you have us permit them 
to enslave us, and hold out our arms and feet to the fettering 
without a struggle or a murmur ? ” And then, having filled 
their bosoms to bursting with patriotic indignation at the 
course and disposition described interrogatively by these 
triumphant questions, they exclaim, “ No! we would spill the 
last drop of our blood;—we would see our cities burned with 
fire;—we would perish with arms in our hands on the battle¬ 
field, or pine in exile in Siberia or Botany Bay, before we 

E 3 



82 


THE PATRIOTISM OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


would tamely submit to be slaves! Liberty or death! ” These 
are the most striking and usual terms of comparison in the 
vocabulary of martial patriotism. Frequently the sentiments 
they express take a figurative form more fearful still. We 
recollect one employed by" the editor of an American journal, 
pending the Oregon controversy, to this effect: “ Sooner than 
relinquish our just rights to the disputed territory, we would 
shed every drop of blood in the heart of the nation! ” Mr. 
Borrow, agent of the Bible Society, records “ a broken prayer 
for my native land, which, after my usual thanksgiving, I 
breathed forth to the Almighty, ere retiring to rest that 
Sunday night at Gibraltar; ” a prayer for his native country 
which contains this passage—“ May’st thou sink, if thou dost 
sink, amidst blood and flame, with a mighty noise, causing 
more than one nation to participate in thy downfall! ” And 
these are regarded as the outbursts of a patriotic feeling—of a 
love of country so intense that they would see if engulfed in 
fire and blood, and even the last vein of the nation's heart 
pierced, and its existence extinguished, rather than endure 
insult, injury, or oppression! They measure their attachment 
and devotion to then 1 country and its institutions by the awful 
calamities which they would bring upon it, in defending its 
honour and rights. What a fearful antithesis of alternatives! 
How many peoples and nations have “ sunk, amidst blood and 
flame, and with a mighty noise,” in the abyss which yawns 
between these alternative conditions! How many patriots of 
this order have seen then’ country a smo kin g sea of ruin, 
without finding a bulrush ark in wdiich to float “the immediate 
jewel of its soul ”—the charter of its existence as a nation! 

We wish no one to accept or share the responsibility of our 
convictions, or of the views we wish to express in reference to 
this aspect of the subject. If peace has its victories no less 
than war, it has its heroism and its patriotism. The men of 
peace can find no attribute, in the great Gospel principles of 
their faith, that can side with despotism, or wink with indif¬ 
ference at oppression. They are not cowards. They counsel 


THE PATRIOTISM OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 83 

no tame, unmanly submission to wrong; but to oppose to 
wrong a courage of the human will that shall never faint or 
waver at any extremity of endurance;—aye, to “ resist unto 
blood,” if it be unavoidable,—to give their own necks to the 
axe or to the halter, on the block or the scaffold, but never to 
shed themselves a single drop, or perpetrate a single act of 
malevolent injury on any human being, under the severest 
pressure of despotic rule. Peace has its heroism, serene and 
dauntless, that neither trembles nor pales before the guillotine, 
the halter, or the knout. Peace has its patriotism; deep, 
earnest, unselfish, self-sacrificing, and sensitive,—a love of 
country that would bleed to the last vein, but never wound, 
for its rights, honour, and prosperity. Peace has its battle¬ 
fields ; bloodless, but brave to a degree of heroic endurance of 
wrong and outrage to which martial courage could never 
attain. The patriotism of peace, like the first grace of Chris¬ 
tianity, “ is first pure, then peaceable; ” pure from those in¬ 
tense emotions of selfishness which are generally the heart and 
soul of the patriotism of the warrior. The history of nations, 
from its first to its last chapter, is full of the examples of those 
who have gloried in dying 5 ; for their country. These last years 
have produced multitudes of the like. This patriotic sentiment 
is popularised among the millions, and set to the music of the 
songs of labour; and the hardy, humble men of the sewers 
often cheer the hours of their toil by singing, sotto voce, the 
joy and the glory “ Mourir pour sa patrie.” The leaders of 
the depressed peoples of Europe, who have struggled, again 
and again, to recover their freedom and independence by the 
sword, are loud in the profession of their readiness to die for 
their country, and thousands of their countrymen echo the 
same sentiment. But under what circumstances would you 
die for your nation’s freedom ? Would you mount the scaffold, 
and die for your country, as Jesus Christ died on the cross for 
the world, amid the scoffs and scorn, and cutting taunts of 
your own countrymen? How would your patriotism stand 
the test of such an ordeal ? How would the military heroes of 


84 


THE PATRIOTISM OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


the world, who have acquired fame for dying on the battle¬ 
field for then* country’s good, have trembled and recoiled like 
cowards from such a scaffold! Tried by such a test, how often 
would the patriotism of the warrior be seen to be nothing more 
or better than an intense love of self, the eager ambition for a 
name that shall outlive the memory of the good! 


THE PROTECTING POWER OF PEACE PRINCIPLES. 

The principles of peace, as a protection and defence, are 
equal to any enemy or emergency. They are a safe resort in 
“ extreme cases.” They carried William Penn through as an 
extreme case as any Christian nation can fear to get into. 
Armed with these divine principles—trusting to no Egyptian 
reeds of steel, no mailed arm of flesh—he came among the red 
savages, whose bare breasts had been scarred in their long and 
bloody wars with the Puritans of New England, and the Long 
Knives of Maryland and Virginia. The memory of burnt 
wigwams, and the cry of their children as they were thrust 
into the flames on the bayonets of professing Christians, were 
fresh in their hearts.—Among their painted chieftains, strode 
many a Logan , sombre, stern, with long-brooding revenge 
rankling in his bosom. Penn came among them from the land 
of their deadliest foes; he spoke their language, and his face 
was pale like theirs. But he came with peace in his eyes and 
peace on his lips. He took hold of their rough red hands, and 
called them brethren; and their strong hearts grew soft at his 
words. And there they sat down and held sweet counsel 
together. There they burnished the silver chain of friendship 
bright; for the music of the good man’s voice was peace. And 
their old men called him father, and their children, and their 
children’s children called him father. No oaths were used in 
that covenant of peace, and none were broken. 



THE ECONOMY OF PASSIVE EESISTANCE. 


Here, for example, is a people that have been subjected to a 
foreign and despotic rule, which has become intolerable to 

them. They are penetrated with a sense of the wrong and 
outrage which are inflicted upon them. They arrive at the 
conclusion to wage a desperate struggle to shake off the yoke 
of their servitude, and to regain or acquire their freedom as a 
nation. Unanimity of will and purpose, a strong and common 
sentiment of the justice of their cause, the concentrated and 
enduring energy of the whole population, are indispensably 
requisite to give such a struggle a possibility of success. Now, 

then, what are their position and their prospects ? What are 
their forces, and what are those of the despotic power with 
which they have to contend ? They have the right and the 
will to defend it. The powerful Government that oppresses 
them has the wrong, and the military force on its side to 
maintain it. WTiat, then, are the chances of the battle-field P 
In the trial by battle, right has not the slightest advantage 
over wrong. So the prime force of the oppressed people is 
virtually put hors du combat in the struggle; and their will 
falls to the ground powerless, with the weapons they lifted to 
sustain it. At the disastrous issue of brute force with them 
colossal oppressor, they fall, not half-way, but to a lower depth 
of depression than before. When they entered on the struggle, 
they felt the h'azard of the fearful odds; they knew the issue 



86 


THE ECONOMY OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


would be doubtful; successful or discomfited, they expected to 
suffer great calamities; to sacrifice thousands of human lives; 
to consume the resources of the nation, and bring wailing, 
desolation, and ruin, to numberless homes. But so strong was 
the will of the people, that they tried “ the hazard of the die “ 
of battle, in face of these terrible and visible certainties. Noav, 
then, let us suppose the same people, with the same deep sense 
of right, and the same unanimous will to maintain it, at the 
cost of any amount of suffering, shake off the yoke of the 
oppressor, and oppose to his power the mere moral or passive 
resistance of that will. Simultaneously, as at the declaration 
of war, every man, woman and child secedes from obedience to 
the despotic Government, and prepares for the consequences. 
No tri-coloured banner is raised; no bodies of men are marched 
through the streets to the sound of martial music. The only 
battle-word of the nation is written on the door-posts of every 
house:—“ No political change is worth a single crime , or a single 
drop of human blood! ” The only soldiers employed are like 
the peasant-sentinels of Cassel, who watched over them fellows, 
lest oppression should make them mad, and, in a sudden trial 
of them patience, they might fall to an act or word of violence. 
Now what force can the despotic Government employ to 
subdue the will of that people, arrayed against it in this 
impregnable state of opposition ? It has no moral force, that 
is clear; and every act of violence puts it more and more in 
the wrong; that is, increases its moral weakness, and the 
moral power and dignity of the other side. Its soldiery is 
powerless, because every breast in the nation is defenceless, 
and every man possesses his soul in quiet patience, and with¬ 
holds his hand from the slightest act of violence. Its generals 
and officers can find no other field of glory or prowess than the 
scaffold, where they may superintend the hanging of a few 
leaders of the revolution, for exciting in the people a spirit of 
patience under oppression; for saying on the platform, or in 
the journals of the country—“ Endure unto the end; but do 
violence to no man.” How is this people to be subjugated ? 


THE ECONOMY OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


87 


It cannot be bung 1 , put in prison, or transported, entire, or by 
sections. A dozen or two, in every considerable town, might 
be hung, hundreds imprisoned, and hundreds exiled. Thou¬ 
sands might be spoiled of their goods. But all this loss of life 
and treasure, and calamity of other species, would not equal 
the bloody casualties of ,a single battle. Not a farthing’s 
expense is imposed upon them by their own Government or 
leaders to sustain this struggle. No agricultural labourer is 
called away from the plough, no mechanic from the loom or 
the anvil. Every soldier’s post in the conflict is in his own 
field, workshop, or counting-room; and every man of the people, 
and every woman and child that can endure, is a soldier. In 
these long campaigns of patience, there is no individual sub¬ 
jected to the despotism of military rule, or to the inequalities 
of the camp. The heroes of this warfare are those who have 
best miled their spirits under the sharpest trials. The veterans 
to be remembered and rewarded, when the crown of their 
freedom is attained, are such as have given to the people the 
most illustrious examples of endurance of wrong, of a patience 
which oppression could not tire, of a capacity to rule their own 
spirits under the pressure of the most stinging provocations. 
Could the dignity, power and courage of the human will be 
combined and presented in a sublimer manifestation, than in 
such a spectacle? Here patriotism puts off self, and walks 
serene in the pure white robe of its majesty. Here the steady 
bravery of the human heart looks gigantic despotism in the 
face with an eye that makes it cower in the midst of its 
Cossacks. National independence! ’tis more than gained and 
guaranteed; that people has conquered it by its will. Demo¬ 
cracy! it is already established, with attributes of popular 
sovereignty which ally it to Omnipotence. Democracy! that 
term falls below the dignity of tills people’s prerogative and 
power, even while the faggot blazes, and the block drips 
with the blood of their patriots and heroes, in every town and 
village of their land. The experience of ages has given a 
meaning to that word too gross and physical to describe the 


i 


88 


THE ECONOMY OF PASSIVE RESISTANCE. 


sovereignty and freedom of tliis self-governing people. With 
them it signifies not the brute force of the mass, not the capri¬ 
cious sway of its impulses, but “ the power of God WITH 
MEN.’’ With them it is true, for the first time in the history 
of humanity, “ vox populi est vox Dei; ” because the battle- 
word of their conflict and conquest is the sublime voice of His 
Gospel, “ Resist not evil , but overcome evil with good .” Is there 
any man who aspires in his heart to see “ Liberty , Equality, 
Fraternity illustrated in the life and being of a republic ? 
Here you have those conditions realised to the full. The 
armies of the aliens, the banded despotisms of the world, may 
encamp around such a nation; but they can no more withhold 
from it the freedom it has won by its capacity to enjoy it, than 
they can withhold the communion and fellowship of the Holy 
Spirit from the individual soul that has worked out its own 
salvation with fear and trembling. 

We do not believe that despotism, in any of its manifesta¬ 
tions, has foes more decided and unwavering, or popular 
freedom and progress friends more earnest or efficient, than 
are the advocates of peace, on both sides of the Atlantic. For 
one, we trust that the last experiment to win liberty by the 
sword, to attain to the capacity and dignity of self-government, 
by unchaining and stimulating to frenzy the worst passions of 
the people, has been tried and found wanting. The fearful 
and sanguinary struggles of the last few years, we hope, will 
serve to this evidence, without a repetition of these terrible 
lessons. If there be any oppressed and aggrieved people, that 
are nourishing in their heart the determination to struggle 
again for the national being and freedom they have lost, there 
is only one way given under heaven among men by which 
they may reach the consummation of their longings; and that 
is, Passive Resistance. 


AN “EXTREME CASE.” 


Colonel Sabretash, you have the reputation of being what is 
called a brave man, and you ask, with an air of triumph, what 
we would do with our peace principles in “ extreme cases,” in 
“ foreign invasions,” &c.; whether we would sit still and see 
our wives and children murdered before our eyes, and our 
houses burned over our heads? We will answer you after a 
Yankee fashion, by asking what you would do in certain 
“ extreme cases ” that might occur, with all your bravery ? 
You belong to the American army, and are ready, you say, to 
march against any foe of your country, and avenge any insult 
or injury with their blood. Well, now suppose that Great Bri¬ 
tain had perpetrated a long series of aggravated wrongs upon 
your countiy, until all its inhabitants should rise up and 
demand her punishment, with one heart and voice. Let us 
make the case as extreme as possible. Let us suppose Great 
Britain to be unmitigatedly guilty and incorrigible, and that a 
war is declared against her with all the solemnity of a sentence 
of death pronounced upon a murderer. You are the high 
sheriff of the nation, and are commanded to execute this sen¬ 
tence—to punish Great Britain for what she has done, not for 
what she may do. Declining to come to “ execution’s dock ” 
to be punished, you are sent with a posse of 100,000 armed 
men to inflict the sentence upon her in her own habitation. 
You arrive in the harbour of Liverpool on a Sabbath morning 



90 


AN “EXTREME CASE.” 

—for your duties, you say, are paramount to the duties of reli¬ 
gion—and draw up your force at the head of the quays. In 
the meanwhile the news of your arrival and attitude is com¬ 
municated to the mayor and city authorities, whilst engaged 
at them devotions in church. Preceded by the mayor, they 
immediately wait upon you, and ask the nature of your com¬ 
mission. You reply after this manner: 

“ Great Britain has perpetrated on my country a long series 
of the most aggravated injuries, which have been borne until 
‘ endurance has ceased to be a virtue.’ She has been convicted 
and condemned at the bar of American justice, and I have 
been sent to inflict the sentence of God and man upon her; for 
every minister in America has declared from the pulpit, that 
the voice of their people was the voice of God calling for 
vengeance.” 

The mayor and aldermen listen with profound solemnity to 
this serious communication, and when you have finished, the 
former thus addresses you:— 

“You say that Great Britain has been found guilty of mur¬ 
der, arson, and other capital crimes, at the tribunal of your 
country, and that you are sent hither to execute the awful 
sentence of death upon thousands, whose blood can alone 
appease the vengeance of the American people, and of God, of 
whose wrath they claim to be the executors. Thus condemned 
at the bar of Divine and human justice, it does not become us 
to resist the execution of the law. This is one of Her Majesty’s 
cities. Our population are assembled very conveniently for 
your purpose. They are mostly collected in our places of 
worship, praising and praying to the same God whom your 
countrymen worship, and whose recent tokens of grace encou¬ 
raged us to believe, that He was not so angry with us as his 
liired servants in America have declared from their pulpits to 
be the case. Divide your army into companies, and despatch 
one of them to every house of God, under the direction of an 
alderman or guide, whom I will furnish for the duty. There 
you will find the inhabitants of the town conveniently grouped 


AN “ EXTREME CASE.” 


91 


for execution. In the first pew is the minister’s family,—a 
wife, a -son of tender age, and two little daughters. In the 
next sits the oldest elder of the church, and by his side a son 
in the prime of manhood, and grandchildren ranged according 
to their age. Here are our councillors, statesmen, editors, 
merchants, sea-captains, and men, all proportionately respon¬ 
sible for the crime you allege against our nation. Pass down 
the aisles and bayonet as many men, women, and children as 
you think may fall to our share of suffering in this ministra¬ 
tion of vengeance, human and Divine; and when the bloody 
work is done, fire as many of our chief buildings as you think 
necessary for incense to the human sacrifice, and then pass on 
from town to town, through the kingdom, doing the like in 
each, until the demands of justice are satisfied.” 

“ But,” resumes the mayor, “ your men look too weary and 
spiritless for such a painful and arduous duty. Perhaps the 
ocean storms or English mists have quenched the fiery ardour 
of their eyes; or, perhaps, they have been put on short allow¬ 
ance for some days past, and need refreshment. Let them be 
marched to the market-place, where our wives and yoimg 
daughters shall serve each soldier with food of their own 
hands’ providence; and when your parti-coloured regiments 
are well refreshed, let them begin their work, and pierce the 
bosoms of those who fed them like mothers, daughters, and 
sisters.” 

Nay, Colonel Sabretash, be not so impatient of the time, nor 
look wfith such uneasy air upon the ground. You are reputed 
a brave man, and wear a sword, a cliamond-hilted sword, 
woman’s meed of praise, perhaps, for running two Mexicans 
through the body at Monterey. You have been through many 
“extreme cases;” you are always talking about “extreme 
cases,” and know well how to meet them. What would you 
do in the “ extreme case ” I have described ? Consider well 
the conditions of tins case. Great Britain, it shall be granted, 
is guilty of all the aggravated crime charged upon her. You 
are sent to execute judgment upon her for what she has done. 


92 


AN “EXTREME CASE.” 

The penitence of the criminal at the gallows is not to save him 
from the execution of the law, you say. Then Great Britain 
is as guilty in a non-resisting attitude as in one of open war; 
and you are bound, according to the justice of the sword, to 
execute sentence upon her, to follow the directions of the 
Mayor of Liverpool, and to slay at the altar and at the hoard 
spread for your hungry soldiers. Now what would you do in 
this “ extreme case ? ” Could you run that sword of yours into 
the bosom of the Mayor, as a signal for the general execution ? 
Could you bring your soldiers up to the slaughter of those who 
had resorted to the gospel mode of “ repelling foreign inva¬ 
sions,”—feeding their enemies,and givingthem drink; “aiding 
and comforting them,” as it is described in that code which 
makes high treason of obedience to the direct precepts of 
Christ? What would you do? Nay, own it honestly—if you 
are a brave man—would not you and all your host “ go back¬ 
wards and fall on the ground,” before such an array of the 
omnipotent principles of peace ? 


THE PRINCE OF PEACE. 

“ Peace on earth and goodwill to men ” was on the first 
breath he drew in the manger, and on the last he yielded up 
on the cross. His dying prayer for his murderers, in all the 
music of its sweet spirit of love, is praying on in the deepest 
depths of eternity, “Father, forgive them! Father , forgive 
them!” The ether of the heaven of heavens is vocal with the 
melody of that mercy-breathing prayer, and every zephyr that 
whispers amid the foliage of the tree of life, or listens to the 
harps of heaven, has learned that prayer by heart, and sings 
it to “ the quiring cherubim.” 




THE POLICEMAN AND THE SOLDIER. 


There is a broad, deep, dark river without a bridge between 
the policeman and the soldier, between all the agencies and 
enginery of war and those of civil government. Sophistry may 
seek to bridge that dividing river with an arch of fog, but the 
sunlight of truth must dispel the baseless fabric, and merge its 
framed subtleties into air. There may have been a time, in 
the barbarous infancy of civil government, when that river was 
narrower than at present; but even then, as now, it created a 
bridgeless division between police or penitentiary agencies and 
those employed in war. At the very beginning the former of 
these agencies were souled with a humane thought, which gave 
them a benevolent tendency and impulse. In every civilized 
country they have obeyed this inherent inspiration. In many 
countries this humane thought has wrought and wrought, like 
a spirit of heavenly grace, in police and penitentiary systems, 
until the State Prison has become, perhaps, the best barometer 
of the philanthropy of the country. It has become even now 
an institution of merciful and benificent ministry to thousands— 
the very gate of salvation to souls arrested from the steep, broad 
road to ruin. The humane thought which souled it at first, 
will work on, and work out new qualities of mercy and good¬ 
ness to man in the ministry of the Prison. And if the Prison— 
the end of human law, the theatre and limit of its severest 
penalties—has been thus gradually transformed, all its preli- 



94 


THE POLICEMAN AND THE SOLDIER. 


miliary and auxiliary agencies have been equally affected by 
this transformation. Take the Police corps, for example, and 
you have a body of men set apart ostensibly for the public 
good, safety, and convenience. They are generally sedate, well- 
behaved men, courteous, and even kind to the people. They 
are professionally temperate and vigilant, and patrol town and 
country by day and night, for the prevention of crime and for 
the protection of life and property. In the dark and stormy 
watches of the night they tiy window-fastenings and door 
locks, to ascertain whether the slumbering inmates are secure 
from burglars; and this they do with apparent attachment to 
the interests of their multitudinous charge. Their cardinal 
function or duty is to save life, not to destroy it; to elevate, 
not to degrade public morals. The central idea of their estab¬ 
lishment is a benevolent one, which must go on developing new 
phases and facts of philanthropy. 

If the penalties of crime, as administered in the Penitentiary, 
shall be calculated and designed to work godly sorrow and 
transformation in the heart of the criminal, then we may be¬ 
lieve that the Police corps, in its preventative service, may not 
only be employed in preventing crime, but also in preventing 
the tendencies and extremities which lead to crime. Or, in 
other words, if it be now the policeman’s duty to enter a build¬ 
ing suspected of being a theatre for crime, it may, hereafter, be 
equally his duty and inclination to enter a squalid tenement 
suspected of being the scene of human want and suffering, for 
the purpose of arresting their desperate importunities by the 
vigilant charity of a paternal government. Thus he must 
merge more and more into the missionary of good and mercy 
to the poor, ignorant, and degraded. 

Now, then, look at the soldier ! He has been described by 
a celebrated English writer as “« mere machine for murder 
This term naturally strikes one as severe, when applied to a 
fellow-being, possessing an immortal soul, and sustaining indi¬ 
vidual and tremendous responsibilities before the Judge of all 
the earth and of all worlds, which no human legislation can 


THE POLICEMAN AND THE SOLDIER. 


95 


affect. But no milder term can express the ostensible character 
and functions of that unfortunate being. There is no quality 
of mercy, no humane or moral tendency in his profession. The 
soul of soldiery, at the beginning, was a murderous idea, and 
all its tendencies and ramifications have been downward and 
demon-ward. His tools are all instruments of murder. There 
is not one of his “ infernal machines ” shaped, pointed, or 
sharpened for less mischief to human life than murder. The 
upshot and end of his drilling and discipline are murder. The 
value of his immortal soul, and of all the capacities of his being 
in time and eternity, is comprehended in the estimate of his 
worth as a mere machine for murder. As such a machine he is 
led forth to the slaughter, not as a lamb, but as a dumb gladi¬ 
ator, to kill whom he may be commanded to kill, without 
opening his mouth to any question of guilt or innocence. To 
run his bayonet through the bosom of the mother that bore 
him; to cut down his father upon the threshold of the home of 
his childhood; to redden his steel in a brother’s blood, are pos¬ 
sibilities imposed upon him by the terms of his bond, and the 
conditions of his oath, on becoming a soldier. The hangman 
who sends a human soul to the bar of God from the scaffold, 
can quote for the deed the strongest evidence of guilt against 
the criminal. But the soldier can derive no such opiate for his 
conscience, if conscience survive through his functions on the 
battle-field. Every man he shoots or stabs may be as innocent 
of the cause of the war as if he were born in the moon. Not 
the slightest assurance can he have, on selling himself into the 
machine state, that he 'will not be set like a blood-hound upon 
his own countrymen and neighbours, to silence their murmurs 
under cruel outrage, or stifle their audible breathings for free¬ 
dom of speech and conscience. In almost every age and 
country he has been a mere thumb-screw of tyranny, ready at 
a moment’s notice to work out its bidding ag linst the people. 
If the people are to be robbed of the dearest prerogatives of 
their peoplehood; if the press is to be silenced, the pulpit 
barred, the right of petition and public meeting violated, the 





96 


THE POLICEMAN AND THE SOLDIER. 


hired soldier is the machine for the business. If his conscience 
retain any other sensibilities than his cartridge-box, and he 
shrink at his machine-work; woe to him! he may be hung for 
treason. The machinery of the soldier is not confined to the 
perpetration of mere murder. The end and aim of his profes¬ 
sion are war. To this bloody consummation the line upon line, 
and precept upon precept of his discipline converge and deter¬ 
minate. And war has been denominated “ the concentration of 
all human crimes .” To kill, steal, deceive, covet, bear false 
witness, to lie, break the Sabbath—to break all laws given by 
God and man, are the crimes of war. Crimes! nay; they are the 
virtues of war, the cardinal virtues of its moral code. The con¬ 
centration of all human crimes? Then these human crimes 
must reach that concentrating point by converging lines. They 
must be trained somewhere to burst like bomb-shells on the 
field of battle. And this somewhere is that preparatory school 
of vice, the barracks. The receiving-room of this Institution 
is the gin-shop; the usher is the recruiting-serjeant. “ Tall 
frames and low morality ” is the motto of this official. If the 
morality of the candidates for this martial tutelage be above 
the enlisting point, he “does” them with beer or gin. “No 
person with nice scruples about religion” will make a mere 
machine for murder; none such are admitted, or retained after 
a declaration of such treasonable sensibility. The march of an 
army in war is said to be marked by desolation, fire, and 
blood. The preparation of an army for war, in the stillest 
times of peace also makes its mark upon the face of society—a 
kind of Cain-mark, a deep, dark trace of demoralization. 

The policeman and the soldier are mutual antagonists in 
community. The one is a conservator, the other a corrupter of 
the public morals. The moral distinction between them grows 
wider and wider with the gradual development of humane 
ideas in civil government. The policeman is rising to the 
missionary of charity and benevolence; the soldier’s soul is 
fettered to the low morality of war. 


RECIPROCAL FAITH. 


Reciprocal faith is the basis of all intercourse among gentle¬ 
men—faith in each other’s integrity, honour, generosity, and 
sense of right and propriety. Without such a faith no social 
intercourse could exist. Upon what terms could a social circle 
be maintained, if one of the number should claim to be the 
only true gentleman—to be all honour, integrity, nobleness, 
and generosity—and should treat all the rest as if they were, 
collectively and individually, all meanness, without integrity, 
honour, generosity, or sense of right or propriety? Not even 
two could walk together upon such a condition. In the social 
intercourse of nations we have a right to expect the most 
refined perceptions of honour, integrity, justice, and propriety. 
We have a right to expect that the courtesy of courts shall be 
based upon mutual respect and faith, and all those conditions of 
confidence which regulate the intercourse of gentlemen. And, 
with the exception of one gross and anomalous violation of the 
law of true honour, our expectation is not disappointed. The 
different ambassadors do, indeed, treat each other like gentle¬ 
men, like equals in rank, honour, integrity, &c. The different 
Cabinets of Christendom do the same. Through them, nations 
recognise in each other equals in rank, honour, justice, and 
humanity, and their intercourse is conducted upon the reci¬ 
procal faith which these qualities inspire. What a violation 
of all the laws of justice, common sense, and decency it would 


F 



98 


RECIPROCAL FAITH. 


be for one ambassador to treat another daily as if he were in 
disguise, a pickpocket, highwayman, or devoid of all honour, 
justice, or sense of propriety. What greater insult could be 
perpetrated upon a nation, than to treat their representative in 
this fashion? Common sense and propriety repudiate such 
conduct as unworthy of civilized society. 

Still, however punctilious nations are in the observance of 
all the conditions of international courtesy and intercourse, 
they are all addicted to one hereditary habit of deportment 
toward each other, involving the grossest breach of honour, 
justice, and propriety. This habit is the suspicion of felony, 
dishonesty, highway robbery, arson, sacrilege, kidnapping, 
rapine, and the sum of all villanies, in every other nation. 
The terms of this indictment are pretty much the same on 
both sides of the Atlantic and of the English Channel. In 
America the popular sentiment is expressed in this way :—“ If 
the United States should disband their army and dismantle 
their navy, Great Britain would be down upon us, and burn 
our cities and make us slaves.” But go from Maine to Texas, 
and you will not find a man who would not spurn the idea 
that Canada would incur any danger of an invasion from the 
United States merely by being left without a soldier or a field- 
piece. In England you everywhere meet that hereditary pre¬ 
sentiment or prophecy—“ If we should disband our army and 
dismantle our navy, France would be down upon us and take 
away our liberties,” &c. Perhaps it may be safely assumed, 
that half of the annual appropriations in France for their war 
establishments, is occasioned by a similar suspicion of the 
malicious designs of England. 

Now let us arrest and try this universal suspicion or presen¬ 
timent of “ foreign invasion.” It is certainly an impracticable 
thing to certify to what other nations would do in such and 
such cases, but we can come at what our own would do, under 
similar circumstances, by the dictates of our national conscience, 
of which our private one is an element and faculty. The ques¬ 
tion is between England and France. We take the honour, 


RECIPROCAL FAITH. 


99 


justice, and generosity of the latter at the estimate which 
England herself has established in their international inter¬ 
course. And that estimate recognises no difference in the rank 
of national morality, to the disadvantage of France. England 
admits that France is her equal in honour, justice, and gene¬ 
rosity, and would be no more liable to violate the laws of either 
than herself. There is nothing in their past history to show 
any difference in this respect, in favour of England. During 
the last 700 years she has been at war with France 200 years, 
carrying over the territories of France all the havoc of “ foreign 
invasion.” The people of France, then, have as much ground 
for the presentiment that “ if they should disband their army, 
and dismantle their navy, England would be down upon them 
and take away their liberties,” as the people of England can 
have for the same presentiment with regard to a foreign in¬ 
vasion from France. Let us try the Frenchman’s suspicion 
before an English jury. The guilty proposition covers this 
ground:— 

“ France has disbanded her army, and dismantled her navy 
and fortifications; eveiy cannon is dismounted along her 
shores. Her soldiers have all been sent back to the field and 
workshop. There are none within her borders to learn or to 
teach the art of war any more. France rests upon the secu¬ 
rity of a good conscience toward all nations. The magnetic 
telegraph has been strung across the English Channel, and it 
communicates, in the twinkling of an eye, to the English 
Parliament the defenceless attitude of their old neighbour. A 
Cabinet Council is held without delay. Next morning the 
Premier brings in a Government plan for a sweeping invasion 
of France. She is defenceless, and he urges that consideration 
alone in favour of the enterprize. France, says he, is perfectly 
within our power. We can easily overrun her territory, burn 
her cities, sack her temples, destroy her shipping, commerce, 
and manufactures. We can rifle all her banks, bring away all 
her wealth, make all her men hewers of wood, and enslave all 
her women. ‘ Let slip the dogs of war.’ Let all our fleets 

F 2 



100 


RECIPROCAL FAITH. 


and armies be concentrated against our old ‘natural enemy', 
and annihilate her for her confidence in our honour, and sense 
of right and justice.” 

Can we mistake the verdict of an English jury in such a 
case ? Is there a man, woman, or child, prince or peasant, 
born within the compass of the British empire, whose cheeks 
would not burn with the reddest blush of shame, if it could be 
proved that the nation were capable of the acts involved in 
this suspicion of the popular mind in France ? Could a nation 
be reduced to a more degraded reputation than to be suspected 
of the capacity of perpetrating such cold-blooded villany as 
that which must be proposed by an English Premier before 
the presentiment we have noticed could be realised? Would 
not every true-hearted Briton prefer to see his sea-girt isle 
sink fifteen cubits beneath the ocean, than to have it crimsoned 
with guilt unknown to the blackest records of human depra¬ 
vity ? 

Then does not this verdict condemn, with equal justice and 
evidence, the guilty mischievous suspicion that if England 
should disband her army, and dismantle her navy, France 
would be down upon her with all the havoc of a foreign inva¬ 
sion? Go to any city or 'village in France, and try this sus¬ 
picion at the bar of public opinion, and the same verdict of 
unqualified condemnation will be returned. Then why shall 
the substance of the people of Christendom be devoured, and 
the fruits of their industry be thrown into the bottomless gulf 
of war expenditures, as a suicidal sacrifice to a suspicion more 
groundless than the baseless fabric of a vision ? 


THE DANGER OE FOREIGN INVASION. 


A stereotyped series of “ extreme cases ” lias been arrayed 
against the practicability of the peace principle. When war is 
denounced as a sinful waste of life and treasure, and as foolish 
as wicked, the old question comes up, in a tone of indignant 
surprise—“ what would you do if the French, British, or 
Americans should land an invading army on our coast ? ”—or 
more generally, “ what would you do, if a ruffian should spring 
upon you in the night, while you were asleep in your bed, or 
travelling alone in a dark wood? Would you not endeavour 
to kill or disable the murderous assailant ? If so, may we not 
defend our nation’s existence, honour, or interests, on Waterloo, 
Austerlitz, or Bunker Hill ? ” Let us examine, for a moment, 
this position, and see wherein nations are like individuals in 
moral character, mutual relations, liabilities to assault, tempta¬ 
tions to assail, or in any of the casualties to which private 
parties are exposed. 

The family circle of Christendom embraces about a dozen 
nations, capable of waging war with each other. Were it not 
for this masculine capacity, we might call them twelve sisters; 
but in them present attitude and disposition, it would be more 
proper to call them twelve male neighbours; ranking in the 
power of position perhaps in this order: England, France, 
United States, Prussia, Austria, Russia, Spain, Italy, Denmark, 
Sweden, Portugal, and Belgium. These twelve nations are 
twelve individuals, in thought, word, action, interest, character, 
and position, though millions of minds, hearts, and hands 
think, feel, and act in each. They are very respectable indi¬ 
viduals. They profess and manifest “ a nice sense of honour.” 
They treat each other generally like gentlemen of fine sensi¬ 
bility; with punctilious etiquette. They recognise in each 



102 


THE DANGER OF FOREIGN INVASION. 


other equals, peers in the order of nations, and rank of morality. 
They are connected by every kind of relation calculated to pro¬ 
duce mutual amity and good understanding. Each has a large 
household, and each household a multitude of wants, which 
cannot be supplied without a daily exchange or trade with all 
the rest. This is not all. To promote and preserve an unin¬ 
terrupted amity, each family sends a beloved son to live con¬ 
stantly in the bosom of every other family of the circle; to be 
there not so much a guest as a constant inmate or member; 
and there he personates the dignity and disposition of his 
father’s house. The central idea of this social economy is this: 
that these twelve national individuals, or individual nations, 
may virtually live together under one roof, gather around one 
hearth, around one table, and constitute one family circle. 
Thus France, the United States, Russia, Prussia, and the rest 
of the individual nations enumerated, virtually live under the 
same roof with England, through their respective ambassadors 
at the court of St. James. Now, wherein do the relations sub¬ 
sisting between these twelve families resemble those which 
subsist between 30,000,000 of individuals living under one and 
the best government on earth ? What resemblance in variety 
of character, circumstances, and disposition, can you trace 
between the two parties to be compared ? In the first place, 
these thirty millions embrace almost as many varieties of moral 
character, ranging from men of the highest moral and intel¬ 
lectual eminence, to the most depraved of human beings, who 
live professionally by crime. But, in the case of the twelve 
individual nations, there can be only twelve varieties of charac¬ 
ter, position, and circumstances; and the lowest of these cannot 
sink below the line of self-respect, or the respect of the rest of 
the fraternity. A nation cannot play the highwayman, the 
midnight arson, or robber, and conceal its crimes. It cannot 
hide by day behind a hedge, or prowl in the forests, or abscond, 
or change its name or dress. 

Let us assign to every individual of a nation a circle of ac¬ 
quaintance embracing a thousand of his fellow-citizens. These 
persons have either seen or heard of him, or traded or corres- 


THE DANGER OF FOREIGN INVASION. 


103 


ponded with him, and are rather friendly to him. Well, then, 
of the thirty millions of his countrymen, twenty-nine millions, 
nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand will have no more per¬ 
sonal acquaintance or correspondence with him than if he lived 
in the moon. They will live and die without the slightest 
knowledge of his existence. At the distance of ten or twenty 
miles from his home, he finds himself in a world of strangers. 
Now, can any people or country, in the family circle of nations, 
be placed in a situation similar to that of this individual ? 
There is not a government on earth that does or can guarantee 
a subject against assaults upon Iris person or property, or pro¬ 
mise to arrest or punish the assailant, or even to prevent him 
from perpetrating the same outrage upon others. Take the 
English Government, for instance, and let us see what it can 
do for the security of life, property, and personal rights, with 
all its vigilance, care, and power. Its police force is diffused 
through the realm, and men with leather-topped hats are 
patrolling its towns, villages, roads, and lanes, by day and 
night, to prevent crimes, and arrest criminals; to watch over 
the lives and property of the people. Yet, notwithstanding the 
lynx-eyed vigilance of this constabulary force, it would be a 
low estimate to suppose, that one thousand British subjects in 
these islands are daily assaulted, insulted, abused, maltreated 
in person or property, or at least compelled to receive from 
their fellow-subjects what would constitute a casus belli if per¬ 
petrated by one nation upon another. Perhaps half of these 
violent individuals are arrested by the police and daily punished. 
Suppose, even, that not one of them escapes the hand of justice, 
and that a severe punishment is sure to reward every breach of 
the peace. Even in that case, could the Government guarantee 
any subject against “ extreme cases” of assault, injury, insult, 
and other maltreatment ? Surely not. After all it can do for 
the protection of the lives and property of its subjects, every 
one of them is at least a thousand times more exposed to 
•“ foreign invasion” of his rights, to “ extreme cases” of outrage, 
injury, and insult, than is his nation to similar treatment from 
foreign countries. Logically, there ought to be thirty millions 


104 


THE DANGER OF FOREIGN INVASION. 


of nations, with, thirty million varieties of moral character, 
to bring one of them into the same danger of extreme 
cases of injury to which every individual in the United 
Kingdom is exposed. By that rule, every British subject 
would run thirty million chances of “ foreign invasion,” 
where his nation ran one. But, by the statistics of violence 
and crime, who will say that he is not at least a thou¬ 
sand times more exposed to outrage, insult, and abuse, 
than is his country, notwithstanding all a vigilant government 
can do for his security ? Then why does he not avail himself 
of the argument he institutes in favour of “ national defences,” 
and go armed to the teeth for his own personal defence ? If 
self-preservation be the first law of nature, why does he not 
cany with him a loaded pistol newly primed to the market, to 
church, to bed ? Upon whom or what does he rely for safety 
in his walks abroad or at home ? Not upon his government, 
surely; for, after all its vigilance and care, he knows, by the 
daily records of outrage, that he is a thousand times more ex¬ 
posed than is his country to extreme cases of injury and insult. 
Whatever he may say about “ national defences ”—“ wooden 
walls ”—“ long ranges ”—iron “ peace-makers,” for his country, 
he himself reposes for his personal safety upon the protection 
of Divine Providence and the disposition of his fellow men. If 
this sentiment of security assume a more religious tone, he 
derives it from a “ conscience void of offence towards God and 
man.” If this sentiment of security be a virtue, it is a very 
common one, and, perhaps, almost hereditary in every indivi¬ 
dual. At least it ranks among the most ordinary of human 
virtues. Then why may not a nation exercise this faith, and 
practice this virtue of individuals of even low morality ? Why 
should a family circle of a dozen nations, all co-partners in a 
common commerce, all inter-fraternised in the way described— 
why should they deform their mutual attitude and belie their 
social intercourse, by each taking his neighbour fondlingly by 
the beard with one hand, whilst he sharpens a dagger for his 
fifth rib with the other ? 


THE BROTHERHOOD OE NATIONS. 


Under the attraction of the centripetal or social principle of 
humanity, the numerous tribes and provinces of the civilised 
world have been peacefully absorbed into a few large circles of 
society. And these, in their turn, are gravitating into a union, 
into a brotherhood of nations, which, in the language of Lord 
John Russell, must ere long render a war between them as unna¬ 
tural and barbarous, as a resort to arms would now be regarded 
between Brussels and Antwerp, York and Durham, or New York 
and Boston. At the present moment, there are but few more 
complete, independent nationalities in Christendom, than existed 
on the island of Great Britain during the heptarchy. Even 
now, England, France, Germany, Russia, Italy, and the United 
States—a family of half a dozen nations—have absorbed nearly 
all the moral, political, and commercial power and wealth of 
the civilised world. These great States determine the questions 
of peace and war between civilised nations; for no war could 
occur in Cliristendom without their participation or consent. 
Here, then, we have all the various tribes, races, and commu¬ 
nities of the civilised world virtually reduced to six great 
nation-families. Now, to arrive at the first stage of that con¬ 
dition of peace and brotherhood predicted by inspired men of 
other ages, these six nation-families must be connected by the 
relations, united by the intercourse, attracted by the social 
affinities, and governed by the laws of order, which produce 

F 3 



106 


THE BROTHERHOOD OF NATIONS. 


the harmony and good-will existing between six highly culti¬ 
vated private families, who are living upon terms of the closest 
intimacy with each other. Bring them into this condition of 
relationship and intercourse, and everybody must concede that 
they could not entertain the unnatural and barbarous idea oi 
going to war with each other, to settle any difference that might 
arise between them. Let us illustrate the condition which, 
every rational mind must acknowledge, must preclude both the 
idea and possibility of resorting to arms for such a purpose. 

Let us suppose that there are on the island of Great Britain 
only six large families, each living at the distance of a hundred 
miles from its nearest neighbour. The respective heads of 
these families are persons named England , France , Germany , 
America, Italy, and Russia. They live on terms of the closest 
intimacy with each other. They follow different occupations. 
One is an agriculturist, another a manufacturer, the third fol¬ 
lows the sea, the fourth is a miner, and deals in iron, coal, 
copper, &c., each producing something which is indispensable 
to the comfort of the rest. Their intercourse increases yearly, 
with the increasing members and wants of their respective 
families. Every day in the week, a waggon, loaded with 
manufactures or produce, arrives at the warehouse of each, 
from each of the other five houses, and is followed by its 
family carriage, filled with its members, who have come on a 
friendly visit. Daily these six families become connected by 
new relations. They intermarry their children, or send them 
to live permanently in each other’s houses. They become co¬ 
partners in business, and invest their capital in each other’s 
prosperity. They try to diminish the distance which divides 
them. They construct railways and electric telegraphs, and 
carry them means of communication to such perfection, that 
they can whisper short messages of business or good-will to 
each other across the space of one hundred miles, or call in 
after dinner, take tea, and return home the same night. To 
make the union and intercourse more complete, each sends a 
beloved son to live permanently in the family of every other 


THE BROTHERHOOD OP NATIONS. 107 

member of the circle, not only as a proof of fraternal friend¬ 
ship, hut as the representative of the whole family which sent 
him. In other words, they try to live permanently under 
each other’s roof by proxy. 

Here, then, we have a model of a society, based upon all the 
relations, embracing all the harmonies, that can connect and 
cement a circle of private families. Bring the six great nation- 
families of Christendom into this condition, and perhaps every 
one would concede that the time had arrived when they might 
properly “ beat their swords into ploughshares, and then* spears 
into pruning hooks.” But have they not already been drawn 
into the sphere of this condition by the attraction of that social 
principle to which I have adverted? What relation have I 
described as existing between the different members of this 
circle of private families, which does not exist, in far greater 
completeness and strength, between these six nations? Let 
any one answer who can. Is it said that they were the only 
families on the island, and were obliged, by irresistible neces¬ 
sity, to trade with each other ? But are not these six nations 
compelled to trade with each other, not only by the same, but 
by a stronger necessity, created by a difference of climate, 
soil, and capacity of production, which does not exist in Great 
Britain. Then* social intercourse was intimate, because the 
first want and predilection of human nature is society, and they 
could not satisfy that want without friendly intercourse with 
each other, because there were no other families on the island. 
But are not these six nations in the same condition, but aggra¬ 
vated by a more intense emergency? Are they not subject to 
a stronger necessity of mutual and friendly intercourse, and are 
there any other nations on the island of humanity with which 
they may associate ? Go to London, Paris, Hamburgh, Berlin, 
Rome, or St. Petersburgh. Take the census of the hotels, of 
the watering-places, of the steam-packets on the Atlantic, on 
the Mississippi, the Rhine, the Danube, or the Loire, and see 
if these nation-families do not feel and obey the same necessity 
of social intercourse as that between the private families i. 


108 


THE BROTHERHOOD OF ttATlOtfS. 


have described. As a permanent bond of union, as a right 
hand of fellowship, each of these families places a beloved son 
under the roof of eveiy other member of the circle, to watch 
over their mutual peace and harmony; to communicate kind 
words and wishes; to explain, or receive friendly explanations 
of all unhappy incidents of deportment which may transpire 
in their intercourse. But has not each of these nations a repre¬ 
sentative for the same object at London, Paris, Berlin, St. 
Petersburgh, and Washington? But, it may be observed, 
these private families are bound by law to keep the peace. 
Then release them from all law and make the most of the 
argument. If not a single legislative act existed to regu¬ 
late their intercourse, could it be possible for them to 
think of resorting to arms to settle a difference, whilst con¬ 
nected by such relations ? If there be no positive law or 
solemn treaty in existence to regulate the intercourse and 
transactions of these nations, then the blame of such an abnor¬ 
mal condition rests upon themselves. But these intimate, 
vital, and inevitable relations which exist between them, even 
without international law or treaty, should render the very 
idea of war between them insane and preposterous to the mind 
of every rational man. Do they not every year congratulate 
themselves on the increasing strength and variety of these 
relations, and express a wish and intention to multiply and 
strengthen them ? Then why refuse to accept the conditions 
which these relations prescribe, by maintaining immense mili¬ 
tary armaments in preparation for war with each other, to 
settle any difference whatever ? 


NOW. 


Time and Providence, in all the vicissitudes and events which 
mark the experience of individuals, or measure the progress of 
nations, bring hut one now to man, or to any human enterprise. 
Every great event or undertaking, that has blessed the world 
with its beneficence, has had its own peculiar now ; its own 
providential preparation of the popular mind for its reception 
and fruition ; its own contemporaneous coincidence of auspicious 
circumstances, co-working to facilitate its realisation. And if 
the present year is not the now which God has given us for the 
consummation of the hopes we entertain and the measures we 
propose, that now will come; “ for the mouth of the Lord of 
Hosts hath spoken it.” It will come ; but not by observation. 
It will come ; but the star of its advent will be recognized only 
by a few shepherds longing and looking, with skyward eye, for 
its appearing. It will come; but the faith of the few will 
only discern and hail its approach, while the million will per¬ 
sist in then* incredulity, and ask in derision, “ where is the 
promise of its coming ? ” What was true in regard to the 
great event of this year, will be true in reference to the more 
august reality towards which we look and labour. Who 
discerned the fact, that this year was the now of the Great 
Exhibition ? Was it the spontaneous and universal conviction 
of the public mind, that the set time had come for this magni¬ 
ficent demonstration in the Crystal Palace ? No; its advent 




110 


NOW. 


was comprehended by the faith of the few. Even to them it 
did not come by observation. They did not walk by sight or 
certainty. They had no pathometer wherewith to test the 
sentiment of the world towards their proposition. It was not 
in their power to feel the pulse of the divided populations of 
the earth, to ascertain whether their multitudinous heart beat 
in sympathy with the idea of this grand gathering of the 
nations. And without this spontaneous sympathy of the people 
of different lands and languages ; without the animated consen¬ 
taneous co-operation of their best will, genius, and activity, 
no human legislation could have produced the event which 
now fills the mind of the world with delight and admiration. 
How, then, did the princely author of this monarch-thought 
of the age, and his dauntless coadjutors in the conception, 
ascertain that its now had come P that the mind of the world 
was ripe and ready for its realisation ? that the predilections 
of peoples and the pathway of Providence were in happy 
conjunction for this brilliant consummation ? The circum¬ 
stances under which they put out their great thought, are full 
of instruction and encouragement to our faith. Ten years ago, 
there were no interests in the commonwealth of nations so 
mutually antagonistic, so jealous of competition, so adverse to 
reconciliation, so ambitious of precedence, or determined to rise 
on the ruins of another, as the mechanical and agricultural 
industries of the different populations of Christendom. Years 
of elaborate legislation had arrayed these interests against each 
other in lynx-eyed and tireless hostility. The artisans of one 
country were taught to regard their brethren of the spindle, 
hammer, and spade of another as their natural enemies in the 
battle of life and labour. They were taught to conceal their 
skill; to lock away their mechanical genius in close, dark 
laboratories, lest it should be purloined by foreigners. “ No 
admittance here except on business ” was written, in barking, 
bull-dog capitals, over their factories and workshops. Abun¬ 
dant admittance to buy, but none to learn, was the meaning 
of this threatening monition. Even to the first day of 1851, 


NOW. 


Ill 


the jealous tariffs of different countries seemed “ like lime- 
twigs set to catch ” and cripple the thought of bringing the 
arts and sciences of all nations into one Central Palace of Peace 
and Concord. In addition to this circumstance, a deluge of 
angry agitation was rolling over the continent of Europe. 
During the last months of 1850, thousands and tens of thousands 
of the well-skilled artisans of Prussia, Austria, and other 
German States, had laid down the peaceful implements of their 
handicraft, and were training their fingers to the bloody 
trade and weapons of war. And was this the time ? was this 
the juncture of favouring opportunities for the Great Exhibition 
of the Arts and Industries of all nations ? So its originators 
believed. Against the mind of the million they believed it 
steadfastly. To their faith, the now had come for the complete 
realisation of the magnificent conception. Unaided by legis¬ 
lation, with no governmental power or authority to lean upon, 
they sent out their idea, dovelike, among the divided populations 
of the earth. It dropped into the hearts of peoples like a still 
small voice of Divine inspiration. It permeated the minds of 
the masses, and touched then* sympathies to the finest issues. It 
worked upward into the highest ranks of human society, and 
downward into its lowest conditions ; and pervaded and united 
all with the common sentiment, that the great day of Univer¬ 
sal Labour had come, when it was to be crowned with glory 
and honour, and the homage of potentates and peoples. Away 
upon the sea, to distant islands and continents, flew the 
summons of that thought; and the sons of toil of every handi¬ 
craft, and clime, and colour, opened their hearts to its message ; 
and it thrilled their fingers with such ingenious activities as 
never before wrought in the mechanical creations of human 
skill. The great day of Labour had come. The queen of all 
the earthly conditions of humanity was to be brought to her 
throne, with kings and queens as her train-bearers, with 
shoutings of grace and glory to her sceptre from the many- 
tongued myriads of her subjects. Labour, patient, peaceful 
Labour, that from the closed gates of paradise went forth 


112 


NOW. 


weeping into the wilderness of life, and tracked it with the red 
pathway of her bleeding feet; Labour, that had made bricks 
without straw in Egypt, and lain pale and hungry, and begged 
for crumbs on the door-stones of palaces, which her blistered 
hands had filled with dainties which the eye and appetite of 
ungrateful luxury could not enjoy; Labour, that had walked 
and worked her way through the barbarisms and feudalisms of 
the past, with the fetter-prints of bondage still fresh and 
crimson around her limbs; meek, lowly-minded Labour had 
come to her immortal now, to the day of her august coronation. 
And her lowly men of might, who bore in their sunburnt fore¬ 
heads and in their horny hands the dusky signets of their 
loyalty, felt that her day was come. And wdth a new senti¬ 
ment of dignity, the pearl-divers of distant seas, with strong 
and downward beat, descended to deeper fathoms of the ocean’s 
depths, and searched its shining bed for “ gems of purer light 
serene ” than ever shed their lustre on regal courts; the 
diamond-diggers of different zones hunted with new ambition 
for the costliest stones of the earth’s treasury to stud the 
coronation jewellery of Labour; and the trappers of frozen 
regions, and the fishermen of the Poles, the men of the mines 
of deeper fathom than the sea; the diggers and workers of all 
the precious and useful metals and minerals which the earth 
contains; the workers of the spindle, shuttle, and needle; the 
artisans of hostile countries forgot their nationality in the 
sentiment of the dignity of their common condition, and all 
wrought, with the highest enthusiasm of their genius, to bring 
the master-pieces of hmnan art to the crowning of Labour. And 
the kings and queens of the earth felt that the first jewels of 
their crowns owed their lustre to Labour, and they brought 
them forth to shine among the gems of her coronation, in the 
great Temple of Peace and Concord. And the first queen of 
the world acted as bridesmaid at the royal robing of Labour, 
and in sight of the congregated nations she set the tiara of the 
world’s homage on her brow, and gave her, a glorious bride, to 
the dignity of universal humanity, as the first-born and fairest 


NOW. 


113 


of the earthly offspring of Omnipotence. And who among the 
thousands that filled, or the exulting millions that surrounded, 
the Crystal Temple on that august occasion, could doubt that 
its illustrious now had come, with its world-full of the finger¬ 
prints and finger-guidings of Divine Providence; with its 
favouring sympathies beating fellowship in the bosoms of 
nations; with attractions and unprecedented opportunities for 
the realisation of this magnificent scheme of peace and human 
brotherhood ? 

But the result of this grand experiment has a bearing upon 
our efforts and expectations far beyond the value and signifi¬ 
cances of an illustration. The wonderful demonstration which 
has congregated the peoples of the earth in fraternal fellowship 
in yonder Crystal Temple of Peace, is not a mere collateral 
event, by which we may prove the existence and force of a 
current of public sentiment running parallel with that which 
this Congress represents. Great as are its triumphs, immea¬ 
surable as may be its consequences, it did not transpire on a 
line of human progress which may, in some dim, distant future, 
converge into the road which we are pursuing. No ; the lines 
of the Great Exhibition and the annual Peace Congress of 
Christendom have already merged into the same highway of 
peace and human brotherhood. It is not our doing. It is the 
work of Divine Providence, and it is “ marvellous in our eyes.” 
It is not our saying. Let no one charge us with the ambitious 
assumption of this fact. Others have said it for us; others of 
the highest authority, and in the audience of the listening world. 
At the grand inauguration in the Crystal Palace, on the 1st of 
May, Prince Albert declared to the assembled thousands of 
different kindreds and climes, and to the millions of Christendom 
who caught responsive the echo of his words, that “ the under¬ 
taking had for its end the promotion of all branches of human 
industry, and the strengthening of the bonds of peace and 
friendship among all nations of the earth.” Peace, permanent 
and universal; peace, rooted in the well-being of nations; 
peace, with its tendrils clasping all the sensitive and nourishing 


114 


NOW. 


fibres of human industry; peace, interwoven with the mutual 
affections and interests of the peoples of the earth, is the object 
of the Congress of Nations, now holding its pacific sessions in 
the Crystal Palace. All the ideas and associations connected 
mth the event merge into this grand object and result. The 
originators of this demonstration, and those who glory loudest 
in its triumphs, claim for it, as its highest honour, this result. 
Their fervid orators, in the glow of enthusiastic eloquence, 
point to the Great Exhibition, and say, this is the true Peace 
Congress. They claim for it the character and object of our 
annual Peace Parliament of the People. They promise to 
realise the result for which we labour; to be first at the goal, 
and carry off the prize. They do not say that they are against us, 
or competing with us in a parallel race-course, but that they are 
far in advance of us, on the same high-road, toward the object 
of our efforts and aspirations. Then, what becomes of the 
charge that we are going too fast and too far, w T hen the origi¬ 
nators of the Great Exhibition are almost boasting that they 
have taken the cause of peace out of our hands, and are carrying 
it forward to its final consumption with railway speed, because 
that our expectations and progress are so slow ? The world, 
almost without a dissenting voice, admits that the set time had 
come for this event; that the preparation of the popular mind 
of Christendom was complete for the realisation of this scheme, 
even beyond the boldest expectation of its originators. And 
it had but one single end from the beginning; and that was 
peace. Let us grant it gladly and gratefully. That is the 
only end of our annual Peace Congress. Then will not the 
sympathies and activities of nations, and the co-operation of 
Divine Providence, which have crowned their undertaking 
with such mighty success, accrue to the realisation of our aim 
and efforts P If their now has come, ’with such a superabundance 
of happy circumstances, can ours be far off? We trow not. 


THE POWER OF PEACE. 


The beauty of peace has been acknowledged in all generations 
and communities of men. Its beauty and loveliness have been 
seen and sung by Pagans and Christians, in all ages. Peace! 
among the painted Indians of North America, peace was the 
smile of the Great Spirit, that beamed for a moment upon the 
green earth like a dream of light. Peace in the Christian 
world has been long regarded as an accidental and temporary 
condition intercepted between two periods of war; a transient, 
precarious lull in the tempest of human passions, which is to 
sweep periodically over the world. Peace! it has been deemed 
a small segment of time crowned with a rainbow,—bright, 
beautiful, hut evanescent;—a short-lived serenity, foreboding a 
coming storm; in short, a season given to nations, in which 
they should prepare for war. And for war the Governments 
of Christendom are still preparing, as if it were the only normal 
condition of nations, and peace an unfrequent and uncertain 
exception in their experience. Peace! “ Oh, it is all very 

beautiful. Yes, it is all very well. It will do very well in the 
Millennium, but we cannot expect it to be permanent and 
universal this side of that happy period.” If peace were merely 
a thing of features, a marble image of beauty, or a living 
embodiment of face-loveliness, then, indeed, would its sceptre 
be a straw, and its sway a dreamy fiction, even in these latter 
days of civilisation and Christianity. But peace is not that 
thing; no, not that thing. Light is beautiful, but it is not 
beauty. It is not a luminous incident, or a fitful and pleasant 
circumstance to this earth. Behind the light there is some¬ 
thing of which it is the reflection; there is a mighty faculty, an 
irresistible heart-power, that does something more to the world 
than shine upon it; an overcoming power, before which sea¬ 
faring icebergs melt in southern seas by night, when there is 
no sun, nor moon, nor stars risible in the heavens. And, like 
light, peace is beautiful, but not beauty. Behind peace there 
is something, of which it is the reflection,—an irresistible 
heart-power, which does something more to the world than 
shine upon it; an overcoming power, before which incarnated 



116 


THE POWER OF PEACE. 


icebergs melt in the southern seas of human existence; before 
which iron-hearted w r arriors and the multitudinous and stub¬ 
born wills of great nations melt; before which the fierce natures 
of Hons and tigers, aud the sharpest-teethed creatures of the 
jungle and forest, melt to the mood and fellowship of frisky 
lambs. Behind the light is the sun; and light is the beauty, 
but heat is the power of its sunhead. Behind peace is love; 
and peace is its beauty , but heat is its power, its melting power, 
which neither Caffre, nor cannibal, nor painted savage, nor 
anything with heart of flesh and blood, nor will steeled with 
wicked purpose, nor the great governments and communities 
of the world, swayed by sceptre or democratic symbol, can 
resist. Love is God’s power, the concentration of his omni¬ 
potence,—his overcoming power. The great Incarnation of 
his Love on Calvary was also the sublime Manifestation of 
his Power, whereunto every knee shall bow and every tongue 
confess: and the knee and tongue of nations shall do it most 
reverently, too, in the good time coming. On Calvary, the two 
great powers of the universe were brought into presence, as the 
French say—into active antagonism for the supremacy. On 
the Cross, God opposed to the aggregated malignities of man¬ 
kind and demonkind from the creation, his Love. They, in 
their turn, opposed Hate, the mother of murderers and of all 
the minor malignities. To their Evil he opposed Good. On 
the eve, as it were, of the grand conflict between these two 
forces, the Son of his Love and Power, the Captain of his 
Salvation, gave this battle-word to the soldiers of the Cross in 
all ages: “ Resist not evil , but overcome evil with good.” To 
make the direction clearer, and to reduce the principle to 
practice, he said again, “ If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if 
he thirst, give him drink” What could be plainer or more 
natural ? To evil oppose good, because God does it. To hate 
oppose love, because God does it; and because love is the power 
of God, and hate is the power of the prince of darkness, the 
father of lies and murderers. The professing Christian who 
pits hate against hate, evil against evil, reviling against reviling, 
goes over to the enemy; he takes upon him the enemy’s uni- 
> form and tactics. He strengthens the enemy’s power, which 
is arrayed against the power of God. 


ARMED NEGOTIATION. 


When we look a nation in the face and speak to it, we 
address it as a Government . That is the title by which each 
is known and approached. In that capacity it moves, acts, 
and is respected at home and abroad. We see in it the em¬ 
bodiment of legislation, the administration of law. It per¬ 
sonates a Supreme Court of Justice, to which every individual 
in the State is amenable ; aye, more than this—to which the 
State itself is amenable—its Sovereign, its President, its 
Parliament, its Judges, and all its authorities. The most 
absolute monarch in Europe would hardly venture to appro¬ 
priate to himself the vineyard or the windmill of the humblest 
subject, without compensation or leave. The Queen of England 
would hesitate even to close a footpath across a royal domain, 
which had been trod by successive generations of the people. 
Every one of these Governments represents and enforces the 
common law of the human conscience, which everywhere 
makes murder, lying, stealing, assault and battery, &c., crimes. 
Besides this, they hold and obey other laws in common, which 
are indispensable for the regulation of every civilised society— 
laws which evidently are the authoritative recognition and 
enactment of those natural principles of justice and equity to 
which the human conscience yields spontaneous homage. 
Thus, under all these Governments, it is not only a recognised 
principle of equity, but probably an established law of the 
land, that all commercial transactions, all compacts, covenants, 
treaties or agreements between individuals are “ null and void” 



118 


ARMED NEGOTIATION. 


of obligation, if it can be proved that one of the contracting 
parties was under personal fear of the other, or was in any 
way restricted in the exercise of his free will in signing the 
agreement. We doubt not that this is not only a principle of 
equity, but a positive law in Russia itself, recognised and 
enforced in the transactions of common life in that country. 
The justice of this principle is so self-evident, that it enacts 
itself into law in every civilised society; and it may be found 
in force and practice, even among the uncivilised barbarians. 
The Governments of Christendom make the validity of these 
transactions depend upon the proof or presumption that the 
negotiation and ratification were the acts of a sane mind and 
perfectly tree will, uninfluenced by any threat, or hostile 
aspect, or attitude, uttered or assumed by either of the treating 
parties. This is a positive law, which these Governments not 
only enforce but obey , in them transactions with their subjects, 
—and obey with the same homage to its authoiity, as if it 
were the statute of a Supreme Court of Nations. Before this 
august law of equity, all distinctions and disparities of rank, 
position and power disappear, to a certain extent, as they do 
before the Throne of Eternal Justice. The State descends to 
an equal footing with its humblest subject. The British 
Government, with its armies and fleets, wishes the ground 
owned by a peasant, and occupied by his cottage. Then it 
treats with him as with an equal. It would be afraid and 
ashamed to make the presence or possession of its power to 
affect his volition, or induce him to part with his piece of land 
for a farthing less than he would demand of his peasant neigh¬ 
bour who asked its price. When the powerful sovereign of 
Prussia wished to incorporate with his royal domain the site of 
a windmill, owned by a humble subject, he descended to a 
complete parity with him before this law. He consented 
that all his power and splendour, that all “ the divinity that doth 
hedge about a king,” that all the authority of his will, and all 
loyal reverence of his wish, should not, in the slightest degree 
affect the volition of the miller, or the terms of the negotiation 


ARMED NEGOTIATION. 


119 ' 


for his piece of ground. Nor did Frederick regard this as an 
optional act, or a spontaneous impulse of generosity, but a 
requisition of legal justice. For when the miller stood out 
against his royal overtures, he went to law with him before 
the legal tribunal of the land; and, in the august parity of 
their positions before that tribunal, he was beaten ; he lost his 
case, and relinquished the possession of the piece of land he 
desired, and even needed, to square or round out his Palace 
grounds. And that windmill to this day strikes out its bold 
arms manfully at the Palace of Sans Souci, in the triumph of 
this sublime principle of equity; and as a standing monument 
of an homage to that principle which is still regarded by every 
royal occupant of that Palace as ranking among the first 
honours of the Prussian Crown. 

Such is the principle of equity and justice which every 
Government in Christendom has enacted into a positive law, 
which they not only enforce, but which they feel themselves 
honoured in obeying, in transactions with their subjects. Now, 
then, we would respectfully ask any statesman or diplomatist 
of any country, however affected toward the policy of peace, if 
the practice of an “ Armed Negotiation” between these Govern¬ 
ments is not a direct, aimless, and aggravated violation of this 
principle and law of justice and equity ? What is the object 
of this proceeding and attitude ? Is it not to base the solemn 
and momentous treaties of nations upon the precise foundation 
which renders null and void, by their own lav's, treaties and 
compacts between individuals ? What else is it but a demon¬ 
stration of physical force, intended to overawe or affect the free 
volition of one or both the negotiating parties; to compel, as 
they say, more favourable terms by the presence or augmen¬ 
tation of armies and navies ? If the British, French, Prussian, 
or Austrian Government, while negotiating with a subject, 
hides, as it were, from sight, its power, lest its very shadow 
should put him at disadvantage in the transaction, on what 
principle of justice or honour can those Governments negotiate 
with each other under arms ? or make a show of force, intended 


• 120 


ARMED NEGOTIATION. 


to affect the arrangement P If we may use such a term, what 
is the policy, the expediency of that fundamental principle of 
equity upon which all valid transactions between individuals 
are based ? It is, that the parties shall negotiate, not only in 
the exercise of unbiassed free will, but in good will, for their 
mutual and equal advantage; that the treaty or agreement 
may be ratified by permanent satisfaction. Then are not 
these conditions equally and indispensably necessary to the 
value and obligation of the important pacts between Govern¬ 
ments, intended to regulate their intercourse and affect the 
interests of their subjects for generations? And yet we have 
statesmen, diplomatists, and conductors of public journals, and 
men of every talent and position, in every country, who advo¬ 
cate the support of large armies and navies, on the ground 
that they compel favourable terms for a nation in negotiating 
treaties, or other arrangements with foreign powers ! To such 
an extent has this policy and practice perverted the moral 
perceptions of many men of intelligence and influence, that, at 
the conclusion of such a treaty, they permit themselves to 
exult aloud, in expressions like these: “We never should 
have secured such favourable terms, if it had not been for our 
army or navy; this comes from an ‘ armed negotiation from 
having one or two hundred war-steamers and ships of the 
line! and two or three hundred well-trained regiments, to 
back our minister ! ” And these are favourable terms ! and 
these are the ‘conditions of an arrangement between Govern¬ 
ments embodying and personating law ! But the partisans of 
this policy admit the precarious tenure of obligations imposed 
and assumed under these circumstances. They virtually con¬ 
cede that the advantages obtained by a demonstration of brute 
force must be retained by it; that treaties made in the threaten¬ 
ing presence of armies and navies, render armies and navies 
necessary to enforce and perpetuate their authority. 


THE GRAND CONGRESS OE NATIONS. 


In time past and present, certain men of hopeful expectations, 
with, eye and heart clear to the morning light of the “ good 
time coming,” have ventured to think it practicable for the 
leading nations of Christendom to convoke a Congress, in which 
each should he equitably represented by a delegation of its 
most experienced statesmen, for the purpose of adopting some 
regulations which should relieve their social and commercial 
intercourse of many embarrassing restrictions, and tend to unite 
them in the bonds of peace and amity. Almost every writer 
on what is called international law, has testified, most clearly 
and strongly, to the anomalies and inconsistencies of that 
jumble of conflicting opinions and precedents which supplies the 
only code which now regulates the society and transactions of 
nations. These premature enthusiasts have thought that the 
highly civilised nations might he able and induced, in the 
progress of events, to convene such a body as this, and give it 
power to revise this code, and give it form and consistency, 
and adaptation to the wants of the age, and invest it with the 
moral authority which legislation can only give to law. Then 
there was another step beyond this result, which they believed 
might follow it. They fancied it would be equally feasible for 
the nations that had convoked this Congress, to constitute a 
permanent Court, a bench of two or three judges from each 
nation, who should interpret and apply this revised code in the 

G 



122 


THE GRAND CONGRESS OF NATIONS. 


adjudication of questions of controversy which might arise 
between them. Them chimera had this extent, no more; unless 
it were the idea that such a Congress might induce or suggest 
a uniformity of weights and measures, and of other regulations 
which simply affect commerce. They never desired or antici¬ 
pated that such a Congress would at all trench upon the 
domestic institutions of any State; or affect its politics or 
internal economy at all. In reference to these prerogatives, it 
would be as sovereign and independent as before. If it wished 
to hug to its bosom the corn laws, slave laws, or laws abridging 
the freedom of speech or opinion within its dominions, it might 
do it to its heart’s content. Only, in their transactions with 
each other, as sovereign and individual States, they were to 
regulate their deportment according to this well-defined code 
of international law, which they had jointly and severally 
adopted; and, in case of a serious difference, which they could 
not settle by negotiation, they were to refer it to the decision 
of the High Court of Arbitration or Equity which they had 
instituted. To be sure, many of these visionary men of peace 
hoped and believed that the influence of such a Congress and 
Court would not only prevent or amicably settle serious differ¬ 
ences between these nations, but that it would tend to unite 
them by new ties of amity. Now, for harbouring such ideas, 
these advocates of peace have been laughed at vehemently, as 
moon-struck theorists, labouring under an amiable hallucination. 
Still, many of the far-seeing and prudential class, who graciously 
drop a patronising wish, alms-like, to a way-side idea of decent 
face, have conceded, charitably, that such a Congress or Court 
might be practicable in the Millennium. No doubt that the 
propounders of these international arrangements have enter¬ 
tained elevated expectations, which they have not supposed 
could be realised in many years to come. But there was one 
anticipation which the most hopeful and sanguine of them never 
ventured to indulge. They never expected to see, in their day, 
such a radical and popular Congress of Nations, as that which 
has just commenced its pacific sessions of half-a-year in the 


THE GRAND CONGRESS OF NATIONS. 


123 


Crystal Palace of the World’s Industry in London. Here is 
ail event which has boomed into the orbit of vulgar vision, like 
an unpredicted comet, eclipsing with its glowing train the small, 
pale, fixed star of peace and order they have been looking for 
so wistfully to appear in the firmament of international society. 
Here is a Congress more democratic, ultra, and assuming, than 
any they ever dreamed of. The one that has occupied their 
imagination for years, was a small, conservative body, convened 
in some neutral and unbiased locality, and carefully limited to 
a precise sphere of action, which should not touch with a feather’s 
finger the internal economies and industries of the nations it 
represented. But here is a multitudinous Congress of nearly all 
the nations of the earth, convened in a palace city of crystal, 
in the metropolis of the world, opened with solemnities and 
circumstances unparalleled in the history of human assemblies. 
Instead of a body of three hundred sedate statesmen, here are 
congregated three hundred thousand men of all countries, 
kindreds, and conditions; artists, artizans of every craft, the 
aristocracy of mechanical genius, and the rough-hewing plebians 
of noble labour. Persons and personages, from the first and 
foremost sovereign in Christendom, to the humblest operative 
in wood, glass, or iron, are taking part in the proceedings of 
this international Legislature of Industry. Who, of the visionary 
peace dreamers, ever fancied that their age would sec such a 
Congress convened, of such a composition and character P 
What are the aim and upshot, the motive and tendency, of this 
most extraordinary Parliament of Humanity ? Let us appeal 
to the noble author of the king-idea of the age. Says Prince 
Albert, on the sublimest occasion on which mere men ever 
spoke a speech:— 

“ This undertaking has for its end the promotion of all branches 
of human industry, and the strengthening of the bonds of peace 
and friendship among all nations of the earth.” 

Its end; not one of collateral objects; not an incidental 
tendency or result. Its only and specific end, to which all the 
means, motives, and circumstances of the Great Gathering of 

G 2 


124 


THE GRAND CONGRESS OF NATIONS. 


the Nations were to converge ancl determinate. How well 
defined, concise, and comprehensive ! The whole compass of 
universal brotherhood is concluded in this end. The first hemi¬ 
sphere of the idea is, “ the promotion of all branches of human 
industry.” Where ? In Great Britain ? No; “ among all 
the nations of the earth.” To impart all one has to give, and 
to receive all another has to communicate, of mechanical skill. 
To hold nothing back, but give it all into the common capital 
of the Commonwealth of Labour. To operate directly upon the 
domestic economies of all peoples; to affect their national habits 
and means of life, labour and locomotion! What a scope of 
action and influence have we here! Could any single national 
legislature undertake a work more comprehensive and radical 
in reference to the interests of a people exclusively within its 
special jurisdiction ? But what shall we say of an International 
Assembly which has for its sole end “the promotion,” the 
elevation, the advancement, the richer remuneration and revenue 
“ of all branches of human industry among all the nations of 
the earth! ” As the Divine command, “ Thou shalt love the 
Lord thy God with all thy soul, mind, and strength, and thy 
neighbour as thyself ” is one, its end one, and its result one, 
to the experience of the human soul; so “ the promotion of all 
branches of human industry, and the strengthening of the bonds 
of peace and friendship among all nations of the earth,” are one, 
not two ends of this magnificent Congress of Nations. In the 
language of Prince Albert, these two results are merged into 
one integral condition. The realisation of the first is the moon 
at its half; the realisation of the other is the moon at its full; 
and when full orbed, does it not look down upon us with the 
symmetrical features of one benignant face of light ? Li “ the 
promotion of all branches of human industry among all nations ” 
we see the grand result half orbed ; but in “ the strengthening 
of the bonds of peace and friendship ” among them all, we see 
it at its full. And when the full, the perfect has come, that 
which was in part is done away, as an object of our contem¬ 
plation. We cannot see half the full moon’s face alone, either 


THE GRAND CONGRESS OF NATIONS. 


125 


with one eye or both. Do what we will, both hemispheres of 
the object simultaneously meet the vision. And so it is with 
thousands and millions of every clime and kindred, whose eyes 
are turned towards this cycle-event. They see its end full 
orbed. They see in its august and benignant countenance the 
face of Peace ; and all do reverence to the living lineaments of 
this expression. Peace is palaced and enthroned in an edifice 
of crystal, to which the imagination can find no parallel, save 
in the vision of him of Patmos, who “saw the new Jerusalem 
coming down from God out of heaven,” with its walls of trans¬ 
lucent gold “ like unto clear glass.” Peace, like a crowned 
presence, presided at the grand inauguration of her era on the 
1st of May. The first sceptre of the world bowed homage to 
her throne on that day; and the congregated nations burnt at 
her feet the incense of that mutual good-will which shall extend 
and cement her dominion from shore to shore, from the river 
to the ends of the earth. The Archbishop of Canterbury made 
that dominion the burden of his supplication ; and prayed that 
this might be the inauguration-day of her kingdom among men. 
The end of this sublime manifestation of good-will is recognised 
by all. Peace is the theme into which all the tributaries of 
public opinion, in reference to this event, converge and expand. 
Peace is the standing toast and topic at all the banquets at 
which the members of this Grand Congress of Nations assemble. 
“ Peace ” is placarded on the walls, in capitals corresponding 
with the dimensions of her Crystal Palace. The proprietors of 
the Surrey Gardens are illustrating the great idea of the age, 
and are presenting nightly, to admiring thousands, Peace con¬ 
trasted with War, in magnificent illuminations. Things that 
do not make for peace, nor comport with its symmetry, are 
removed from sight. We understand that the Waterloo Dinner 
at Apsley House is this year to be omitted, out of reverence to 
Peace, before whose conquests those of the “ hero of a hundred 
battles ” and his compeers in the field, pale into insignificance 
and oblivion. 

Surely, the beginning of the end, described by Prince Albert, 


i 


126 


MILITARY PROTECTION. 


has come. The future is glassed in sublime apocalypse in 
yonder Crystal Palace. That mighty, translucent fabric is not 
a mirror, in which the past may see its face, and glory in the 
features of its offspring. No; it is a speculum, magnificent and 
vast, set in the threshold of a new era, through which the 
congregated nations may see the brilliant and blessed realities 
of that future predicted in other ages by the holy prophets 
of God. 


MILITARY PROTECTION. 

A very industrious, simple-hearted peasant owned a little 
garden patch, which, with his persevering industry, yielded 
himself and family the means of subsistence. His cabbages 
and other vegetables were in the midst of their luxuriant 
growth, when a tririal occurrence broke the peaceful monotony 
of his mind, and filled it with restless solicitude. A roguish 
little rabbit had stolen into the enclosure, and finding the bean 
and pea leaves to his taste, nibbled his breakfast from them, 
day after day, without dreaming that they were cultivated for 
shorter-eared folk than he and his dove-eyed companions. So 
he bobbed about amid the delicious verdure of the unrestricted 
Eden, and daintily tasted of the choicest things that grew in 
it, cocking up his ears with delight when ensconced by some 
plant of peculiar relish. Rising earlier than either the sun or 
the peasant, his morning repasts were finished without inter¬ 
ruption, and he had retired to ruminate in his hole in a 
neighbouring wall, long before the poor man appeared, to 
detect the continued depredations of a guest that cooked and 
counted without his host. Annoyed at these surreptitious 
visits, which had destroyed nearly a shilling’s-worth of his 
vegetables, the peasant determined upon summary measures. 
With that self-sacrificing spirit which is apt to distinguish the 
patriotism of the poor, he resolved to “ repel this foreign inva¬ 
sion,” and annihilate the cotton-coated intruder, cost what it 
might. To make the means commensurate with the end, he 



MILITARY PROTECTION. 


127 


applied to a neighbouring ’squire for his whole force of hunters, 
horses, and hounds, to expel the invader from his territory by 
“ force of arms.” The ’squire, willing to give the simple man 
a proof of his prowess, ordered the horn to be sounded early on 
the following morning ; and the peasant was aroused from his 
bed by a squadron of horsemen thundering around his cottage, 
with the neighing of steeds and yelping of dogs chiming in 
with the tooting trumpets of the chase. At the summons of 
the ’squire, the simple rustic brought out all his provisions, his 
bread, beef, beer, and hams, to breakfast the hungry host. And 
when all his stock had been consumed, the charge was sounded. 
The foaming and fretting steeds fell into a line ; “ the dogs of 
war ” were loosed; the watchword was given; the whole 
squadron came sweeping down through the garden, and the 
next moment every green plant and shrub it contained was 
trodden into the earth. The rabbit from his hole in the wall, 
and the peasant from the door of his cot, looked out upon the 
scene of desolation with astonishment and chagrin. The 
’squire and his train disappeared, leaving the impoverished 
swain to ruminate upon the “ costs of war,” and the value of 
“ military protection .” 

The experience of every people that have enjoyed a “ mili¬ 
tary protection,” may find an illustration in the experience of 
this poor peasant. 

THE SIN OF SENSIBILITY. 

An officer on board of the frigate Constellation, in a letter 
dated Feb. 14, 1799, says:—•“ One fellow I was obliged to run 
through the body, and so put an end to a coward. You must 
not think strange of this, for we would put a man to death for 
even looking pale on hoard this ship!!!” To look and act like 
an incarnate fiend is the conduct and countenance that become 
a man-butcher in time of action. To look pale at the duties 
and victims of his profession, is a cardinal sin, which dis¬ 
qualifies him for being a small devil. People who have nice 
notions of humanity have no business in the army or navy. 



128 


ALMOST A MAN. 


HEART-STRING MUSIC. 

A writer from the scene of suffering says, the groans of the 
wounded Mexicans were heard in Gen. Taylor’s camp during 
the whole night succeeding the recent battle on the Rio Grande. 


IS HE MY BROTHER ? 

What! shall I regard that poor black slave that is toiling in 
the sugar-mill or cane-field a brother P and that miserable 
drunkard who is lying in the gutter, a brother ? and that vile 
criminal who is lying in prison for murder, a brother ? and that 
wild lunatic frothing at his mouth for madness, a brother? 
In what sense a brother ? In just that sense and degree, friend, 
that God is father, you must be a brother to the most wretched 
and degraded being on earth, and he a brother to you. 


ALMOST A MAN. 

A female, denominated by some of the papers a young lady, 
while on a visit at the house of a friend in one of the interior 
towns in New York, saw a deer but a few rods distant in the 
meadow, which had been driven by hunger under the very 
eaves of a human habitation. All the inmates of the house 
were absent but this young lady , who, instead of extending to 
the innocent and wistful stranger the olive leaf of peace and 
kindness, took down a loaded gun and discharged it with 
masculine aim and intent at the poor beast, and broke one of 
its legs. Elated by the success of the shot, and probably ani¬ 
mated by the sight of the animal’s blood, she again smutted her 
womanly hands with powder and shot, and put an end to a life 
vilich had not interfered with her happiness. Quite a heroine! 
Some humane Society should present her with a sword-bodkin, 
or a small bowie-knife, in honour of her feminine heroism. 




FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES. 


If the ladder by which a human soul seeks to mount to heaven, 
proves too short by one round, it might as well have remained 
on the ground. The greater even will be its fall, the higher 
it ascends, and the less it comes short of the kingdom of God. 
And, to a certain degree, the same is true in regard to His 
moral government, its obligations and rewards. “ He that 
offends in one point is guilty of all,” is a Divine truth, full of 
solemn import and application to every subject of that govern¬ 
ment. “ Heaven and earth shall pass away before one jot or 
tittle of His law shall fail,” before one of His commandments 
shall change by a shade, or shorten by a scruple its obligation ; 
before it shall release the human soul from complete obedience 
to its utmost requirements. Every one of His commandments 
is complete and unchangeable. It is holy, just, and good, from 
the beginning to the end of its obligation and obedience. In 
keeping it, there is great reward; therein it is good for the 
obedient. In conforming the life and disposition to its require¬ 
ments, the rights and happiness of others are regarded and 
promoted with sincere solicitude and care; therein it is just. 
In coming from God, as the expression of His mind and will, 
of His purity, righteousness, and love; therein it is holy. 
Here the enlightened conscience may see the source, the working 
or effect, and the end of the commandment; holy in its origin, 
just in its operation, good in its result and reward. The line 

G 3 



130 


FUNDAMENTAL FRlNCIFLES. 


of duty defined by this commandment is frequently called a 
principle. The principles of Christianity, the principles of the 
Gospel of Jesus Christ, are terms of almost daily and universal 
use. But they are not to be confounded with what are called 
the principles of philosophy or science. They do not come from 
human observation, speculation, or experience. They do not 
come like the data which the astronomers of fifty generations 
have collected as the basis of future calculations. They are not 
the deductions of logic, nor axioms of human wisdom, nor 
prescriptions which the morality or moralists of bygone ages 
have laid down in their chart for the guidance and well-being 
of mankind. They do not derive their authority ot obligation 
from human law, reason, or experience. They “ come dow r n 
from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variableness, 
neither shadow of turning,” voiced with the everlasting yea and 
amen of His word, changing not by a shade, turning not by a 
hair, to coalesce or concur with the hereditary habits, ideas, or 
dispositions of human nature ; else, how could they change the 
current and bias of that nature, and turn it heavenward P 
Neither are the principles of Christianity so enveloped in the 
serial revelations of the Divine mind and will, as only to be 
deduced, inferred, or collated, or codified by astute reason. 
There they are and act in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, simple, 
direct, out-spoken and complete, each bearing the seal and 
superscription of the Godhead, “ Thus saith the Lord.” They 
are not half principles, which admit exceptions in certain 
extreme cases of trial; which bend to the waywardness or 
weakness of human nature in certain exigencies. The great 
principle upon which the cause of Peace is based, is not merely 
deduced or inferred from the general spirit and teaching of 
Christianity. It stands in the Gospel among the prime com¬ 
mands of God to man. Is there one of the whole list given to 
regulate our dispositions and conduct towards our fellow-beings 
more direct, clear, and complete, than that enunciated by our 
Saviour on the mount, “ Resist not evil; love your enemies; 
bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate you.” 


fundamental principles. 


lax 


There is the letter of the law itself. There is the command, 
holy, just, and good; and heaven and earth shall pass away 
before one jot or tittle of its obligation shall fail. Who, then, 
that believes in the Divinity of Jesus Christ, can doubt the 
authority, extent, and application of this command ? What 
circumstance can admit the shadow of such a doubt ? Is the 
command a hard saying to human nature ? So is that which 
enjoins repentance and faith in Jesus Christ; so is that which 
charges home upon the conscience the conviction of sin, and 
sentences the old man within to crucifixion, with all its deeds, 
even those it hoped to mount to heaven on. A hard saying ’ 
who can hear it ? A hard requisition ! who can perform it ? 
Who asks this ?—a Christian, whose unregenerate will has 
been dethroned and slain, to make room for the mind that was 
in Christ ? Is this command harder to His disciple than are 
the emotions and acts which precede the sinner’s pardon and 
salvation ? 

Examine the context of the Saviour’s precepts and life, and 
the living commentary of His apostles, and where can you find 
the warrant of a doubt in reference to the authority of this 
command ? Is it confined to a single isolated utterance on the 
mountain which He ascended to teach the people ? Go to that 
other mount which He ascended to die for a lost world. Do 
you lack evidence or example as to the extent and application 
of this command ? Draw nigh to His cross. “ Love, your 
enemies.” Is this a hard saying ? Look at Jesus Christ! see 
what manner of enemies are gnashing their teeth upon him $ 
see with what manner of love He loves them ! “ Greater love 

hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his 
friends but these are His murderers, and He dies for them. 
“ Bless them that curse you.” Is this a hard saying P Look 
at Jesus. Hear what malignant curses pour forth from the 
mad multitude. “ Father, forgive them ! Father, forgive them! ’* 
It is His last prayer, the most fervent and effectual ever 
addressed to the Throne of Grace. What manner of blessing 
invoked with His dying breath upon those who pierced, and 


132 


FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES. 


those who mocked His agonies! “ Do good unto them that 

hate you, and pray for them which despitefuUy use you and 
persecute you.” Is this a hard saying ? Look at Jesus, as he 
hangs lifeless on the accursed tree. Was there ever hatred, 
was there ever persecution so murderous and malignant as this 
which has nailed him to the cross ? “ It is finished! ” All the 

good the everlasting Son of God could do on earth for his haters 
and persecutors, is finished, and He ascends to his Father’s 
throne to mediate and intercede for their salvation; to hear 
and answer prayer; aye, His own prayer for their forgiveness, 
the last He offered in the form of man. 

In the covenant-how of God’s promise to man which encircles 
the cross, are blended the attributes of His being and govern¬ 
ment as harmoniously as the colours of the rainbow that spans 
the summer cloud. The foundation principle of Peace is revealed 
therein in lines of light and love, that shine for ever in the 
diadem of the Son of God. 


MUTUAL SUBJUGATION*. 

There is no time in which a people is so vanquished, as when 
exulting over the subjugation of others by the sword. In the 
unsuspecting enthusiasm of their moments of triumph, they are 
sure to saddle upon their necks a military dynasty, which will 
ride them and their posterity to the extremest capacity of 
endurance on one side, and despotism on the other. 


THE FIRST PRINCIPLE OF REFORM. 

No moral end can be obtained by demoralizing means. Mo¬ 
ral means are the best qualities of a moral end ; they are the 
substance of things hoped for ; they can never fail to put those 
who use them in possession of the greatest good. 




WAftDROBE-WEBS AND TABLE-TIES OF 
BKOTHEBHOOD. 


We wonder if our young friends have ever taken any lessons 

in the physiology or anatomy of the great Earth on which we 

\ 

live, and seen w r hat a surprising provision has been created to 
make one country dependent upon another for its luxuries, 
comforts, and even necessaries. If they have not done this, 
we hope they will begin to make it a regular study. It is the 
most interesting department of science that we ever tried to 
look into; and we are sure they will find it so. Suppose, 
then, we take a lesson together in this study, which has not 
yet been introduced into common schools. We will begin 
with the geography of the dinner-table, and the wardrobe* 
These shall be our maps and illustrations. You have seen 
maps for blind people, with raised letters, figures, &c. ? Well, 
the dinner-table, with all its different dishes, fruits, condiments, 
&c. shall be our chart, with raised letters and figures which 
we can feel, too. With this chart before us, we may get at 
a clearer meaning, perhaps, of that sublime declaration of St. 
Paul, “ God hath made of one blood all nations of men for to 
dwell upon all the face of the earth.” We shall see how all 
the face of the earth has been made for the dwelling place of 
one great family, united by the bonds of peace and love. 

Let us suppose that the island of Great Britain had been the 
only portion of dry land that emerged from the waters that 




134 WARDROBE-WEBS AND TABLE-TIES OE BROTHERHOOD. 

covered the earth at the time of the Deluge, and that it were 
peopled now with its present population. All that is abso¬ 
lutely necessary to sustain life they might draw from the 
island. There would be plenty of pure, wholesome water to 
drink. If all the land were cultivated with care; if every acre 
were made to produce food for man or beast, there would be 
plenty of bread and meat for the people; there would be 
plenty of flax and wool grown to make comfortable and even 
elegant garments for them all in winter and summer, spring 
and autumn. They would find plenty of iron, copper, tin, and 
lead stowed away in the cellar of the island, and coal enough 
lying by to melt it with, and to make bright fires and light by 
night in all their houses. They could live; all their absolute 
wants might be supplied, if there were not another piece of 
dry land on the globe. To be sure they would not be able to 
have tea, coffee, rice, tropical fruits, and a thousand little deli¬ 
cacies for their tables, or cotton, or silk, or costly furs for their 
wardrobes, or precious stones and woods, or pearl, ivory, or the 
treasures of the deep foreign seas, or gold, or the choice metals 
dug from the bowels of distant lands, or medicinal herbs and 
minerals, or things whereof to combine colours for the canvas 
or for the dyeing of raiment. But what of that ? They could 
live without these articles, and, perhaps, be quite comfortable, 
if so disposed. Now what would be true in the case of Great 
Britain, in the condition we have supposed, is now true with 
regard to the actual condition of every country upon the earth. 
The climate and soil, or surrotmding sea, of every country will 
just supply the absolute wants of its people ; so that if all the 
peoples in the world would be satisfied with the mere necessa¬ 
ries of life, or with merely living, in the sense in which the 
tribes in the centre of Africa or Asia, or in some undiscovered 
island of the Pacific Ocean, live, then they might live indepen¬ 
dently of each other—without any trade or intercourse—with¬ 
out feeling that one was necessary to the other in any way; in 
a word, as if God had not made them of one blood for to dwell 
upon all the face of the earth, as blood-relations, in peace and 


WARDROBE-WEBS AND TABLE-TIES OF BROTHERHOOD. 135 

amity. This is the barbarous state of peoples,—the state of 
mutual alienation, hatred and war. But as soon as a people 
feel the want of something more than the mere necessaries of 
life, they must go abroad for it—they must go and talk in a 
friendly way, and trade with another people, living, perhaps, 
on the other side of the globe. And it is a very beautiful fact 
in this system of wants, that the countries most widely divided 
by distance are most strongly bound to each other by their 
need of each other’s productions. Let us see if we cannot 
illustrate this by the figure we commenced with. 

We supposed the island of Great Britain the only tract of 
habitable land on the globe, and possessing its present climate, 
soil, and population. Now, then, suppose a line drawn from 
London to Bristol, and the island cut in two. The people on 
one side of the line can raise just what their neighbours can 
produce on the other. There is no table-tie to connect them ; 
the tie of neighbourhood, of intimate social intercourse, is the 
strongest that exists between them now. But, we will sup¬ 
pose the southern half of the island begins to float southward, 
leaving the other fast anchored in its present position. It has 
receded two degrees, and the sun shines more blandly upon it, 
and the morning dews are warmer on its green things, and 
fruits will ripen well on its northern side which would not 
come to delicious maturity on the southern side of the other 
half of the island; in a word, better peaches, pears, and apri¬ 
cots can be grown in South Britain than in North Britain. 
This difference creates a delicate table-tie between them—it is 
a mere string—but it is something which they feel binding 
them together. But keep a sharp watch of that string, as the 
southern section of Britain recedes from the other, and you 
will see it grow and grow into a mighty cable, which all the 
swords in the world cannot cut in two. South Britain recedes 
slowly towards the equator. Another year has rolled around, 
and it has anchored for a season under still warmer skies, and 
the warm night winds of the south breathe balmily on its 
■vineyards, its orange groves and fields. It can now send back 


136 WARDROBE-WEBS AND TABLE-TIES OF BROTHERHOOD. 

• to its twin sister island, fruits which its people never saw f 
before—delicious grapes, figs, oranges, &c. The taste and 
sight of these products of another clime delight every sense— 
then every sense yearns for them; the children ask longingly 
for them ; some of the younger ones, perhaps, cry for them. 
And now these beautiful, novel fruits, which the North Britons 
never dreamed of, never asked or washed for before, become a 
want, a necessary, to satisfy the appetite they have created. 
Then the grape, the orange, the fig, and each of the other 
fruits sent by the South Britons to their brethren, constitute 
each a new table-tie, to be twisted in with that solitary string, 
which we had before, into a rope which holds the two islands 
more firmly together, the further they recede from each other. 
See how that rope grows in size and strength—how a new’ 
strand is added, as South Britain approaches the equator. It 
anchors again for a year in a still warmer clime, and its fields 
are covered with the luxuriant sugar-cane, cotton and coffee 
plants, and rice. It now sends back to its northern sister a 
stock of these wonderful productions, over and above its 
oranges, lemons, pine-apples, and other delicious fruits. The 
sugar is tasted and declared the very thing for the table, and 
the children wonder how they could have been comfortable 
without it. Gradually it finds its way to every table, however 
frugal, and all declare that it is not only a luxury, but a 
necessary. The coffee is tried-—a little suspiciously at first— 
but it is soon found to be an excellent substitute for cold water 
at breakfast. Hundreds of ingenious people are set at work 
making cups to drink it in; and it finds its way from the 
tables of the rich to the tables of the poor, who drink it from 
tin, iron, or pewter basins, or very rude vessels of earthenware; 
and then the people all begin to feel that they cannot get on 
well without coffee, and it becomes a necessary also. The rice 
is fair to look upon, and is served up delicately to invalids and 
to people of delicate appetites, and gradually to people of 
common appetites, and is found an excellent article of food; 
and where a man bought it at the apothecary’s by the ounce, r 


WARDROBE-WEBS AND TABLE-TIES OF BROTHERHOOD. 137 

for a child recovering from the measles, he now buys a pailful 
of it of the grocer at a time, for puddings of a family size; and 
mothers and matrons decide unanimously that they cannot get 
along well without rice; and so it becomes a necessary. Here, 
then, we have three more table-ties, each larger and stronger 
than the whole rope which connected the two islands before. 
But we have another larger still to twist from the cotton. The 
arrival of this new product is hailed with wonder. Queer ideas 
are circulated about it, and many children are of the notion 
that it is a kind of wool that grows on wooden sheep. Some 
of it is spun into thread and sold for needle-work in little 
balls ; some is woven with common sheep’s wool into cloth; 
and even garments are made of it entire, and found excellent. 
The next year more of it comes from South Britain, and 
machines are made for spinning and weaving it, until hun¬ 
dreds and thousands of men, women, and children are employed 
in working it up for general use. And soon cotton is declared 
an absolute necessary to the North Britons. Cotton becomes 
the first wardrobe-web between the two islands, a tie larger 
and stronger than either of the table-ties we have described. 
Every one of these ties grows larger and larger every year. 
Let us twist them into one great cable, and then compare it 
with the string which connected the sister islands when divided 
only by the distance of two degrees. We shall see how clear 
it is, that “ God made of one blood all nations of men for to 
dwell upon all the face of the earth ” in such a way, that 
countries the furthest apart should be the most strongly tied 
together by their need of each other’s productions. 

We have only been watching the growth of that string 
which South Britain cast to its sister island as it receded 
southward. But North Britain also cast her receding sister a 
string of equal size, wliich grew into another cable, to hold the 
two together with giant strength, when separated by a distance 
of four thousand miles. The Southern island had table wants 
and wardrobe wants which her sister could only supply, and 
the two cables grew, strand by strand, to equal strength and 


138 


OUR APPEAL AND ARGUMENT. 


size. Suppose you contrive a diagram of these table bonds oi 
brotherhood. Get some book containing the amount of articles 
brought into Great Britain from countries within 1,000 miles 
south of London, during the year 1847, then of articles from 
countries within 4,000 miles of it in the same direction. Let 
every million of pounds sterling worth of these articles be 
represented by a cord of one quarter of an inch in diameter. 
Divide the island as we have supposed, and when the two 
halves are 1,000 miles apart, give the size of the rope that will 
connect them at that distance, allowing a quarter of an inch to 
every million of pounds worth of the produce exchanged be¬ 
tween them. Do the same when they are 4,000 miles apart; 
or when the one supplies the other with cotton, coffee, rice, 
sugar, tea, spices, and all the fruits and other productions of 
tropical climes; and receives in return all that Great Britain 
now sells to the countries which produce these articles. This 
you can easily do, and the difference between the ropes or 
cables, at the two distances, will show that the table bonds of 
brotherhood between two countries increase in number, size, 
and strength, with the distance which divides them. 

Now, war goes prowiing about with its sharp sword, to cut 
these ties, and to leave nations to float away from each other 
into the black abyss of discord and ruin. 


OUR APPEAL AND ARGUMENT. 

We lean upon Christianity for an almighty antagonism to 
all war. It is in the Gospel of Jesus Christ that we raise our 
ebenezer against this huge iniquity, which has reddened the 
earth with the blood of eighteen times its present population, 
and burnt it over and over with a fiery deluge of sin and 
suffering. Upon this Rock of Ages we plant our feet, and in 
the name, and, we trust, in the spirit, of the Prince of Peace, 
we set up our banner, whose emblem is the dove, against the 
red dragon of War, which has so long preyed upon this ter- 



OUR APPEAL AND ARGUMENT. 


139 


restrial heritage of our Redeemer. And we need no other 
gospel to array against this fell foe of God and man. We 
need no line or precept added to that gospel, or taken there¬ 
from, to strengthen our position. It is from no mystified 
theory that we have arrived at the conclusion, that the indwel¬ 
ling of the spirit of Christ in the Christian’s heart disqualifies 
him from any participation in war. Nor is it from a mere 
deduction of human reason that we maintain that all who 
dwell in that spirit must dwell together in unity—must con¬ 
stitute one brotherhood, one unbroken family circle, united by 
ties of closer relationship than can be founded in human con¬ 
sanguinity. And this is now the extent of our proposition to 
them—that they stand up and acknowledge this brotherhood 
before the world; that they proclaim in the ears of princi¬ 
palities and powers that they belong to the Legion of the 
Lamb of God and cannot be pitted against each other in war; 
that they cannot slay those who are prepared to die, much less 
those who are not. We ask them to say no more, in this age 
and era of gospel light, than the early disciples of Christ said, 
in the age of pagan barbarism: “ I am a Christian and cannot 
fight” If all the professing Christians of the present day 
would but say this; if they would resolve themselves into one 
compact brotherhood before the world, war would die. The 
human race would soon be attracted to that central brother¬ 
hood, and Christ would soon be enthroned over the kingdoms 
of this world with an undivided sway. We call upon Chris¬ 
tians of every nation, tribe, and tongue to unite in a league of 
universal brotherhood, which shall expel from its communion 
all fellowship with War, Slavery, and Oppression. If the 
kingdoms of this world are to become the kingdom of their 
Lord and Saviour, he must first be enthroned over his saints, 
in all the plenitude of his dominion, as the Prince of Peace. 
Christians, are you ready to say, in this sense, “ Thy Kingdom 
come?” Then you must give him no divided throne. You 
must first wash your hands of all participation in War, Sla¬ 
very, and Oppression. The petty sovereigns of this world 


140 


POETRY AND PROSE OF WAR. 


will not permit their subjects to destroy each other in civil 
wars. How much less can the Prince of Peace allow the 
subjects of his sceptre and salvation to redden their hands 
with each other’s blood, or in any human blood ? How can 
his kingdom come while his subjects and disciples continue to 
do homage and make oblations to the red dragon of war ? 


POETRY AND PROSE OF AVAR. 

Said the Fife and Drum, 

“ Come, people, come ; 

You’ve heard of warlike story ! 

The Queen wants men ; 

Come, enlist, and then 
You’ll fight, and he crowned with glory.” 

Here is some of the crowning—read :—“ It is computed that 
if the mortality throughout the world were as great as it is 
among the English garrisons in Jamaica, Bermuda, Hong Kong, 
Madras, Bengal, and Ceylon, the whole human race would 
become extinct in the short space of eleven years ! ” Too much 
prose for the recruiting sergeant. Let us hear what the man 
in scarlet says to this unpoetical fact. Hear him.— 

Said the Sergeant, “ Stare 
On the clothes we wear, 

Bright scarlet, green, and gold, 

And then the pay, 

Fourteen pence a day, 

And a pension when we’re old.” 

Wanted, a prime lot of bright young men, to shoot and be shot 
at. Who’ll enlist P 



THE LEAGUE OF UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD 


This International Association was organised in 1847. It 
now consists of two National Branches, the British and 
American, each numbering about 15,000 members. The Bri¬ 
tish branch of the League was organised on the 13th of July, 
1847; and its first Annual Meeting was held in the Hall of 
Commerce, London, on the 29th of May, 1848. The following 
gentlemen compose the National Committee of the Asso¬ 
ciation. 

Joseph Sturge, Esq., Birmingham; Lawrence Heyworth, 
Esq., Liverpool; Edward Smith, Esq., Sheffield; Samuel 
Wilson, Esq., Glasgow; William Miller, Esq., Edinburgh; 
Jonathan Priestman, Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne; Jeremiah 
Colman, Esq., Norwich; Robert Charleton, Esq., Bristol; 
Joseph Clark, Esq., Southampton; Robert W. Fox Esq., 
Exeter; John Scoble, Esq.; Charles Gilpin, Esq.; Thomas 
Beggs, Esq.; Henry Callaway, Esq., M.D.; Henry Anelay, 
Esq.; Alfred Dymond, Esq., London. 

Charles Gilpin, Esq., Treasurer. 

Edmund Fry, Esq., Secretary. 

The principles and objects of the Society are embodied in 
the following constitution, or pledge. 

“ Believing all war to be inconsistent with the spirit of Christianity, and 
destructive to the best interests of mankind, I do hereby pledge myself 
never to enlist or enter into any army or navy, or to yield any voluntary 
support or sanction to the prepai’ation for or prosecution of any war, by 
whomsoever, or for whatsoever proposed, declared, or waged. And I do 
hereby associate myself with all persons, of whatever country, condition, or 
colour, who have signed, or shall hereafter sign this pledge, in a ‘ League 
of Universal Brotherhood ;* whose object shall be, to employ all 
legitimate and moral means for the abolition of all war, and all the spirit and 
all the manifestations of war, throughout the world; for the abolition of all 
restrictions upon international correspondence and friendly intercourse, and 
of whatever else tends to make enemies of nations, or prevents their fusion 
into one peaceful brotherhood; for the abolition of all institutions and 
customs which do not recognize and respect the image of God and a human 
brother in every man, of whatever clime, colour, or condition of humanity.” 

The mere signing of this pledge constitutes any person, of 
any country, above the age of twelve, a member of the Asso¬ 
ciation. 

True philanthrophy is one and the same spirit, here, now, 



142 


THE LEAGUE OF UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD. 


everywhere, and for ever. It comes from one source; it tends 
to but one end. It comes from the love of God dwelling in 
human hearts, and shed abroad'from those human hearts upon 
all the immortal beings within their neighbourhood ; and their 
neighbourhood is the world. The great royal law of love 
divides itself into' two branches or commandments. “ Thou 
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy soul, mind, and 
strength,” is the one; “ Thou shalt love thy neighbour as 
thyself,” is the other. The bond of universal brotherhood, then, 
stands the second term of our fealty to God. Upon these two 
commandments hang not only all the laws and the prophets, all 
human duties and human destinies, but also all institutions and 
associations of true philanthrophy. 

It is upon this principle that we base our apology for present¬ 
ing to the friends of universal peace; to the friends of the slave, 
and of the self-enslaved inebriate; to the friends of the 
prisoner, of the oppressed and benighted of every land ; to the 
friends of civil, religious, and commercial freedom, a platform 
upon which they may all unite, and feel themselves at home. 
All such will find the basis of the League of Universal Brother¬ 
hood exceeding broad, and susceptible of indefinite expansion, 
for the scope of associated benevolence ; because it is founded 
upon all the self-expanding obligations of that broad command¬ 
ment, “ Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” The 
ligature which this command must establish between one 
human being and another, is the only bond of brotherhood 
which the constitution of the League proposes for the union 
and associated efforts of the friends of man throughout the 
world. From the great royal law of love it derives all its 
obligations, its attractions, affinities, spirit, aims, and end. It 
assumes, as its basis, the foundation facts of the two great com¬ 
mandments into which that law is divided ; the first of which 
is, that God not only demands, but is worthy of, all the love of 
which the soul, mind, and strength of man are capable. The 
second is, that we are not only bound, by the divine precept, to 
love our neighbour as ourselves, but that our neighbour is 
entitled to that love by the relation which God has created 
between him and us. That, as this relation is not an attribute 
of consanguinity or of locality, the whole world is our neigh- 


THE LEAGUE OF UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD. 


143 


bourkood, whom we are bound to love as ourselves, no more, 
no less. 

It will be manifest to all, that the platform of the League of 
Universal Brotherhood is very broad, and susceptible of inde¬ 
finite expansion for the scope of associated benevolence; for 
it is founded upon the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood 
of man. Adopting this principle and the obligations it in¬ 
volves, we cannot slay a fellow being in battle, because he is 
our brother; we cannot enslave him, because he is our brother; 
we cannot see him enslave himself to his appetites and run 
headlong down the broad road to ruin, without reaching him 
a hand of help, because he is our brother. We cannot see him 
lying by the way-side robbed of the rights which inhere to his 
relationship to God and man, without stopping to act the Good 
Samaritan over him, because he is our brother. Based upon 
this fundamental principle, the League is designed to consist of 
a confederation of hundreds and thousands of branch Societies, 
scattered over the surface of the Globe, all labouring simul¬ 
taneously to educate their respective communities in the 
doctrines and spirit of peace and human brotherhood; and all 
standing ready to concentrate their activities upon successive 
enterprises of philantlirophy, which shall require the co-opera¬ 
tion of labourers in different countries of the world. 

The present operations of the League embrace two enter¬ 
prises, which, we trust, will commend themselves to the sym¬ 
pathy and approbation of the community. The first is called 
the “ Olive Leaf Mission,” supported almost entirely by 
Christian and benevolent ladies in Great Britian and America. 
The chief instrumentality employed in this “ Mission,” is the 
monthly publication of a little miscellany, called an “ Olive 
Leaf for the People ,” in the most widely circulated journals on 
the Continent. These Olive Leaves contain short Christian 
and moral arguments to prove the sinfulness, inhumanity, waste 
and folly of war, chiefly extracted from the writings of 
statesmen, and great and good men of different countries. 
Arrangements have already been made with fifteen important 
continental journals for the monthly insertion of these little 
messengers of peace and brotherhood; viz., Berlin 3, Liepsic 1, 
Hamburgh 1, Bremen 1, Cologne 1, Frankfort 1, Stuttgart 1, 


144 


THE LEAGUE OF UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD. 


Augsburg 1, Paris 1, Madrid 1, Copenhagen 2, St. Peters- 
burgh 1. Through these journals, the principles of peace are 
brought before the minds of probably a million of readers, 
scattered over the whole continent of Europe. The cost of this 
enterprize is defrayed by the ladies of Great Britain and Ame¬ 
rica, who have formed themselves into Societies for this pur¬ 
pose, called “ Olive Leaf Societies.” There are about one hundred 
of these already organised in England and Scotland; and each 
becomes a source of peace influence in its immediate com¬ 
munity, indoctrinating it silently and gently with the Christian 
principles and spirit of the case, by disseminating such 
publications as are adapted to produce this effect among all 
classes. Each Society also undertakes to raise a certain sum 
during the year to contribute to the support of the “ Olive 
Leaf Mission” on the Continent. Thus at least a thousand 
ladies, of high Christian cultivation, in tills country are asso¬ 
ciated in this noiseless and gentle work of holding up before 
the eyes of all nations the fatherhood of God and the brother¬ 
hood of men. 

The other enterprise upon which the League is now con¬ 
centrating much of its activity, is a movement to secure an 
Ocean Penny Postage, which would not only remove a 
positive restriction upon international correspondence and 
friendly intercourse, but would put into the hands of Christians 
and philanthropists an invaluable instrumentality for “ fusing 
the nations into one peaceful brotherhood.” We trust that the 
great majority of the community are already prepared to 
appreciate the boon which such a measure would confer upon 
mankind, and that they will co-operate in hastening its 
realization. 

Such are the leading principles and objects of the League 
of Universal Brotherhood ; and we hope they may com¬ 
mend themselves to the sympathy and approbation of the 
friends of religion and humanity everywhere. Any communi¬ 
cation in reference to the principles or operations of the 
Society, may be addressed to the Secretary, Mr. Edmund Fry, 
35, Broad Street Buildings , London. 



Charles Gilpin, 5, Bishopsgate Without. 







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